Inebriety
by CognacGirl-CG
Summary: **#3 of series** (After Unexpected Prospect and No One Knows) – Still Sydney/Sark. A year has passed since the last chapter of No One Knows. Some things have changed – some things haven’t, but are about to. ***2 more Ch's (11 & 12) loaded 3/19/03*
1. Reflections of One Year

Title: Inebriety  
  


Author: CG   
  


Feedback: Please.   
  


Disclaimer: Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. Nor do I own any lyrics or name brand used.   
  


Summary: Third installment of series (Unexpected Prospect, No One Knows)  – Still Sydney/Sark. A year has passed since the last chapter of No One Knows. Some things have changed – some things haven't, but are about to. There are no known spoilers here, but some speculation. If it happens to come true, I can't help that. 

Rating: R but will reach NC- 17, which of course will be posted elsewhere.  
  


Classification: Drama/Romance  
  
Distribution: Sarkgasm and Dark Enigma yes, all others please ask.

Thanks Rhien for the beta. 

Ch 1 – Reflections of One Year

_Time goes by quickly, when you're having fun._

Sydney wholeheartedly agreed with the first part of that statement. The past year sped by and she wondered where it went sometimes. But the latter part of the statement was inaccurate in her case, since the past year was anything but fun. Sure, there were parts that had been exciting, and worth being thought about with a level of endearment, but if she had to weight the entire year on one word, fun would not be it. 

The graduation day that had seemed so far away finally arrived. Sydney would always look back to that day as bittersweet. When she first stood in front of the mirror, and admired her black cap and gown, she felt a great sense of accomplishment. She had worked so hard for this and it had finally happened. Sydney Bristow could finally step closer to her dream of teaching, the same profession she chose due to the fond memories she used to keep close of her mother, Laura Bristow. 

Her mother. 

Irina Derevko. The woman Sydney thought she would actually get the chance to know. The woman whose brilliance had outshined anyone at the CIA and helped shut down Cuvee's access to the Echelon. The woman who manipulated her way to attend Sydney's special day, only to finally make her getaway. 

She remembered looking out over the crowd as she approached the podium. The first glance she took to tally the crowd, found her father, Francie, and Will. Then with a second look, she found her mother, seated as far away as possible from those who were in Sydney's life daily. Nothing could ruin her day, she thought at the time. Especially when she spied a surprise guest in attendance, as he stood partially behind a tree. 

But then it happened. It was ruined. Just as Sydney stepped down from the stage, it began. The distant sound of a helicopter grew closer. The fifteen men dressed in black garb, their faces covered with ski masks, all found their way to their target. She could do nothing about it, either. The cover she kept so well would have been completely blown if she had tried anything. All she could do was watch in horror, as one of the most wanted people in the world slipped right through the CIA's fingers. 

Her mother had accomplished what she had set out to do. Rid Cuvee of the power he had over her, the Echelon, and capture the data for her use. Plus, she gained information on the Rambaldi flower, a much needed tool, they assumed, to continue with her unknown plans. Three CIA agents were killed the day she made her escape. Nobody was wise to her well-devised plan, except for one man. 

Prior to his daughter's graduation, Jack Bristow made plea after plea to anyone that mattered – pleas that unfortunately fell upon deaf ears. Her father had always disclosed what he thought about Irina Derevko's loyalty, and how much of a danger it would be if they continued to rely on her. Sydney wasn't surprised, but he was right. As much as she wanted her mother back, she never would have her. Laura Bristow was gone forever. 

Her father was never told about the pictures that had been taken in Prague. Only one person knew of that still, Michael Vaughn. The day that he brought them to her attention was the last day she saw the man. She heard talk of him being transferred to a different state, but her interest in knowing details was no longer there. Even though he told her to call if she needed anything before he left her house, she was sure he felt the same. 

Even though a year had passed, many people still did not trust Sark. Top of the list was the CIA, who still had no idea the reasoning behind his alliance with SD-6. 

No one knew, but him. 

Sydney was surprised that Sark had stayed on at SD-6 after her mother's flight from the CIA. Most everyone else was too. The man that was considered obedient to "The Man", showed just the opposite with her freedom. She remembered that first day following her graduation so well, and how quiet he was. The entire night was spent with her in his arms, as he softly stroked her hair. He made mention of being tired, but she knew that wasn't the entirety of it. To this day, she never did ask why. It would be futile if she inquired, he probably wouldn't tell her anyway. Business was business, and she figured what he knew was none of hers. 

Since her graduation, communication of Irina's whereabouts had surfaced. Rumors of the mastermind as she continued her quest, leaving few, if any, witnesses. Sloane had sent Sydney out on quite a few missions with hope that she'd reach the target before Irina. Most times, Sydney would be accompanied by Dixon and Sark, and would prove to be successful. The times that weren't a success though, seemed to overshadow those victories. 

Today brought another meeting, along with another mission. Nothing different about it, her days seemed to move like clockwork now. It was just another Tuesday under her belt. 

"Holsteinsborg, Greenland." Sloane began as he pointed to a satellite picture of the desolate island. "On Thursday, a cruise ship is due to dock there around noon. Along with the hundreds of tourists will be famed explorer, Martin Schroeder." 

Sloane moved to the next slide, which brought a picture of the familiar face. Just as Jacques Cousteau was to the depths of the ocean, Schroeder was to land and ancient myth. His history showed that he first began his exploration in his early twenties, just after his father died doing the same. In his latter years, Schroeder had become obsessed with the works of Rambaldi. It was rumored that he was a descendant of one of Rambadi's closest friends, but that would be difficult to prove. 

"Sydney," Sloane turned his attention toward her, "Sark has been put in charge of this and has laid out the details before you." She shot a look of disbelief back in his direction. "Sark?"

Sark took the floor from Sloane, "Our main objective will be to confiscate all data Mr. Schroeder is carrying with him." He changes the picture on the monitor to a tall brick warehouse. "This is where Mr. Schroeder will go after he leaves the dock, I figure it will be best to do what needs to be done there."

As Sydney looked through the op details, she shook her head. Sark must have noticed, for he stopped talking to the room. "Is there a problem Miss Bristow?"

She looked up from her reading and stared blankly into his eyes. "You've managed to find the most difficult way to access the building." 

"I've found the fastest way into the building." Sark reaffirmed his choice. 

Sydney closed the folder, and threw it on the table. Her action brought questioning looks from Dixon and Sloane. "We could access the third floor from the fire escape, and then make our way down to the ground floor where he'll be. At least _that_ would be a lot less dangerous, since the majority of security will be near the basement access you plan to use."

"I don't know what you thought you'd signed up for when you began your career here, Miss Bristow, but our jobs do require a certain degree of danger." Sark's tone showed his impatience with her continued disruption. 

"Danger I can work with. Recklessness, on the other hand, is a completely different story." Sydney raised her voice after digesting his condescending reply.

Before the conversation could get out of hand, Sloane decided to interject. "Sark, everyone here appreciates the work that you put into this." He transferred his gaze to Sydney as he continued, "We'll do our best to ensure that it's followed, down to the last detail. Now, if there are no further questions, I have a conference call to attend." Sloane looked around the table to the three faces in front of him. No one had anything to add to the conversation. 

Satisfied with their silence, Sloane picked up his copy and left the office. Sydney also picked up her folder and stood with Dixon to leave the room. When she came close to exiting, Sark spoke again. 

"Will the day ever come when you'll place _some_ trust in me, Miss Bristow?" 

Sydney hesitated for a moment, but decided against it. His question sparked too many witty comebacks, and she felt that continuing with the conversation would be pointless. Instead she mumbled, "Will the day ever come when you'll remove your pompous head from your ass, Mr. Sark?" Her words were spoken loud enough that he probably heard them. 

Once they had cleared Sark's earshot, Dixon spoke. "That was a bit harsh Syd, don't you think?"

Sydney didn't respond. When she reached her desk though, she allowed a small smile to form on her face. It was only present for a moment, since there was much prep work that needed to be done before she left for Greenland. 


	2. Amber

Ch 2 - Amber

_I fall over and over and over over over on you_

_I get ill, I get ill, I get ill, you're the only one I'm into_

_You and me_

_Fit so tight_

_I go lower and lower and lower lower livin easy_

_I don't know, I don't know what I got till it's over_

_You and me_

_Fit so tight_

_Do It Again - Queens of the Stone Age_

Same old colors - medium blue with the slightest bit of taupe as contrast - one would think that a change would have been warranted by now, but nothing had been done. Same random decorative pieces, nothing too extravagant, but they still seemed to fit the scheme just fine. Same breakfast bar, and dining room table, both still appeared relatively unused. Not much had changed in a year, and surprisingly he didn't think it was too terrible of a thing. His life had been full of one change after another. Moving from one secure place to the next, never forging any ties. He almost felt somewhat normal now, and he liked it.

Same amber liquid filled the glass, and burned the throat, even though it was cooled with three round cubes of ice. Amber, a color perceived by most to be boring, the addition of yellows to a plain color, just turned it into a lighter version of brown. Coincidentally, those same people were probably too consumed with their pathetic lives to see the bigger picture - at least not like he could.

He didn't often have the opportunity to take a moment and reflect on the finer things in his life. Most of his nights were spent keeping tabs on SD-6 surveillance or verifying the limited private intel that he had received on Irina Derevko's whereabouts.

_Not tonight_, he told himself.

One night without a thought of his former boss would be difficult, but he was way overdue for a break. Especially after the five dead air phone calls that were made to his private line over the past two weeks, the most recent being less than five minutes ago. Something was in the works, he felt it, but could do little about it. He took a moment to swirl the liquid around in the glass, mixing the parts of melted ice, with the strong liquor.

Amber, the color of some moderately priced, but sometimes antique, woman's jewelry. The same color of light from the two candles that barely lit his flat. The color that frequently represented autumn in a good part of the world and of a Roman vase his mother used to keep her fresh flowers in. One of the few memories of the past he allowed himself to keep near and dear.

It was the color of her real hair. Not the many wigs she wore when they traveled the world, sent out to retrieve an object or information. Her hair as it was strewn across his bare chest as she slept, or as it was intertwined in his fingers. Even when it changed to a darker hue when they showered, to him it was still amber.

As he finished the last of his drink, he checked the time. Only a few minutes remained, causing one corner of his mouth to turn up. He no longer needed to cut the surveillance in his building. Sloane had the cameras removed over three months ago. The scheduled set of men that parked near his building almost all day and night, were also discontinued. Given the fact that Sloane gave him complete control over the mission in Greenland, he knew that he had finally gained his trust. He was still careful of course, other people had their own need to keep an eye on him, but he worked diligently to ensure his privacy.

After placing three more ice cubes in his glass, he poured another. Then he waited. Seated at the dining room table that was barely used, he waited for the time to come.

His anticipation, or sometimes he believed it to be concern, abated every time he heard the click of the lock, followed by the sound of the metal doorknob being turned. She could be caught alone in an abandoned warehouse with five guards to out wit and he wouldn't be the least bit worried. She could always hold her own. But every time she escaped her life to meet him at his flat, the risk seemed greater. Part of him detested being the object she jeopardized everything for. The other part didn't want to imagine it any other way.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He heard her voice softly ring out from just inside the door.

Sark watched as Sydney slowly appeared from behind the wall that was separating her from the dining area where he sat. Amber. This time it was her low cut spaghetti strap tank top, combined with a knee-length taupe and amber skirt that flowed around her. He watched her walk to him, her hands gathered behind her back. Each step her strappy amber sandals took, set off a different kind of alarm, blaring deep in his gut.

She stopped less than three feet away from him and tilted her head slightly to the side, a playful look in her eyes. "Everything okay?"

He didn't speak immediately, since his heart seemed to be choking him. Sydney had yet to find out about the phone calls he'd been receiving. Even though he was almost positive of the caller, he didn't want to see her worry about it. Any nonsensical action she made afterward would weigh too heavily on his conscious.

"Some impudent twit told me to remove my head from my ass today." His husky voice didn't shake, although it came close.

Sydney stepped closer to him, unable to suppress the smile that formed on her face. "If I remember correctly, it was supposed to be a pompous head. Plus, I'm sure you had it coming."

"So, you're saying I was the instigator." It wasn't a question for him.

Again she took another step to him, stopping within arms length. "Well, if I was this woman and had to follow directives given by some cocky young man, such as yourself, I would use a few choice words too."

Sark swallowed hard, attempting to keep his heart where it belonged. "Well, she restarted a war that had died weeks ago. One that she isn't going to win." He grabbed her wrist with one hand, pulling her over to him.

Sydney threw her leg over him to straddle his lap. Sark watched as her skirt rode up her thigh. He ran his hands over the exposed flesh, feeling the softness of her fresh tan skin. He missed her. Almost two weeks had gone by since they were last together, and her feel and smell had almost escaped his memory.

Her dimple was still present, although her smile wasn't the brightest that he had seen. He could tell that the initial stages of her seduction were serious. Slowly, she brought her hands to his already loosened tie, and wrapped her fingers around the burgundy and taupe silk, untying it, and then discarding it when she was finished.

"You know this color drives me crazy." Her quiet voice had a hint of sultriness.

He knew that when he chose the taupe suit that morning. It was just as powerful to her, as amber was to him. She continued her exploration by reaching for the top buttons of his burgundy shirt, and slowly freeing them with her fingers. Sark kept his hands on her legs, trying his best to keep his breathing even. He always welcomed when she took control - although those times were few and far between.

After freeing the first half of the buttons, Sydney pushed back the material, bringing her lips to his neck. The warmth her lips brought was equal to the burn that the liquor produced earlier. Each kiss was strategically placed. She followed down the center of his throat, over his Adam's apple, and then down to the center of his chest.

As her lips moved south, so did her hands. First they stopped at his waist, but then found their way to his belt. Once she unhooked it, she slid the tips of her fingers barely inside his waistline. Her goal was to release the clasp of his slacks. After succeeding, she found his zipper and momentarily fumbled with it before sliding it down.

Her gaze returned to his face to whisper, "Just for the record, she fully plans on winning this one."

With little warning, Sydney slammed her lips on his, dominating them with a seldom seen roughness. He took her force as a symbol that she too, missed him. Sark brought his hands up to her face, but as he touched her cheek, she pushed them back down to her waist. Her tongue wildly danced with his, mixing a hint of peppermint with the vanilla aftertaste that was left from his drink.

When her hands found their way through the opening of his slacks and into his briefs, Sark tensed. Her touch was pleasing enough to produce a moan from deep within him, since it had been sorely missed these past few weeks. The heat in his body began to rise as she massaged him. Her hand expertly moving up and down, with her thumb grazing the head.

Sydney felt his hardness form in her hand, and when she was sure he was ready, broke free from his lips. Slowly she rose from his lap, and lowered herself to her knees. Sark exhaled, preparing for the sensation she was about to bring.

With him still in her hand, Sydney wrapped her lips around the tip, and slowly circled her tongue over the surface. Sark let a drawn-out hum escape when she slid him in further, almost covering the entire length of his shaft. His breath immediately became jagged and his stomach jerked, as he felt the wetness of her mouth. He kept his hands by his sides, clutching the underside of the chair he was seated in, even though he really wanted to grab her hair and string it through his fingers.

Her movements were as strategic as her kisses were. The way she took in his length and caressed it with her tongue was causing his body to boil. That combined with the amount of suction she placed on him was unbearable. He couldn't recount the things he had said during the time she was working him, but he knew it was in Russian or maybe it was German.

Sark began to feel he was closer to the end. This wasn't going to work. He was determined to not see her win. His thoughts were short, but decisive. He ripped his hands from their grip on the chair, and pulled her head up.

"You're not getting off that easy." Completely out of breath, his voice barely made a sound as he spoke.

Through low eyes, he watched her smile again, batting her eyes flirtatiously. "I wasn't aware that I was the one who was getting off."

Sark successfully kept from laughing, and grabbed her hand to stand her up. Taking over, he started by caressing her cheek, then bringing her lips to his. He began to pull at the hair he'd been longing to touch since she had first walked in the door. His tongue softly stroked the inside of her mouth, still tasting peppermint. He began to move the two of them backward into the kitchen, both of them stepping somewhat clumsily as they entered.

Once his back reached the countertop, Sark grabbed Sydney around the waist to lift her up to the counter. After sitting her down, he slid his hands up her thighs again, pushing back her skirt. She shivered at his touch, but still wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. When his hands finally reached their destination, he smoothed his thumb over her slit, barely penetrating it through her undergarment. The moisture he felt as he rubbed her through the fabric, aroused him that much further.

Moments later, he felt her moan in his mouth when he slid the garment to the side, and slowly inserted two of his fingers. Sark realized that he couldn't hold out much longer, as he felt the wetness surrounding them. Swiftly, he removed his hand from her skirt and moved it to the strap of her tank, sliding it off her shoulder. Finally, he stopped their kiss, just long enough to remove her underwear.

His face was only a few inches from hers. The distance allowed him to keep the volume of his voice to a minimum. "I've missed you."

Sark rarely spoke candidly, or opened up to her with any amount of feeling, like he just had. Neither did she. It was like they had made a silent agreement to not speak the words that scared them. He almost regretted saying it immediately after the fact. Although he could tell what it meant to her, as he watched her eyes light up and a slight smile break. It wasn't that he didn't feel anything for her, it was quite the opposite, but he didn't want to curse anything by admitting it outright.

After he hiked her skirt the rest of the way up, he pulled her waist to the end of the counter. Sydney showed her readiness by grabbing his hardness and placing it near her entry. Before he entered her, he brought his face to her neck, kissing it softly. The smell of vanilla, similar to the taste of his liquor, was abundant just under her ear. Intoxication at its finest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him and finally allowing himself to feel her inside.

His hips move slowly at first, savoring the wetness that was generated by his entry. But as he explored deeper in her, he found the control he wanted to have fleeing his body. He dug his teeth into her exposed shoulder, which caused her to shriek in pleasure and some pain.

_God, I missed her._

Sydney arched her back as Sark brought his hand to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. He heard her breath become short moments later, as he kept grinding his hips into her. He knew she was near her release, so he roughly massaged her breast while continuously sucking on different areas of her neck. The whimpering he barely heard coming from her, drove him to shove harder in her, wanting to hear the pleasure.

Soon after, he felt the muscles contract over him. Pulling him in a little deeper as they did. He kept moving in her, so close to his.

_God I l…_

He let out a powerful groan as he spilled himself inside of her. This was what he needed to take his mind off of everything, escape the day, and the concern around the woman he believed to be calling his phone.

But this wasn't just about the sex, his silent near admission told him of that.

As they both tried to slow their breathing back to normal, Sydney wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him. In an effort to slow his body, he brought his hand up to the amber strands that started the upturn in his evening. He watched as they wrapped around his fingers, gently hugging them.

He loved to watch her as she slept. The way her head found that spot on his chest, allowing her to quickly drift off was comforting to him. Her hand, as it softly played with his hair right before she fell. The feel of her skin under his hand was soft as he soothingly ventured the length of her back. It was calming, especially after a long day or week.

Over the year, they had grown completely comfortable with each other. She would visit him usually two nights a week and every other weekend. To keep her safe, they would of course ensure the day of the week would change. Too routine could prove to be detrimental. Still, those nights always ended the same, with her in his arms.

What was most surprising to him was how at ease in his own skin he had become, something that for many years he had to master the illusion of. He had no regrets of his life before, but he realized that something just wasn't right, wasn't there. He hated to speculate on what was missing, since the company of a woman didn't list too highly in his priorities before Los Angeles, but in the back of his mind, he was aware.

Sark took his hand from Sydney's back and softly played with her hair.

_Another sleepless night_, he thought as he checked the time. Only two hours until his five AM wake up. Sleep was eluding him, and his mind kept spinning with thoughts of what it all meant. Anxiety consumed his aching stomach, knowing all too well that something dreadful was about to happen. Not only did he receive another phone call from his ex-boss, he was drowning in the irony that he had also fallen for the one person she loved in life -- her daughter.


	3. Secrets of Triumph

A/N – Thanks pie for helping me with the block. I didn't think it would ever go away. And of course, thank you for the beta. Thanks for the reviews guys. 

Chapter 3 – Secrets of Triumph

There was something about taking control of a situation that made her smile inside. In daily life, grabbing and controlling the reins, then using them to their full advantage, brought her great satisfaction. That same fulfillment was magnified though, when the situation revolved around sexual desire. 

She had spent two days planning her conquest of him. Everything from the light dabs of vanilla perfume she placed behind her ears, down to her freshly manicured toes. It was all designed for him. Considering how well it went, she labeled it a success.

As she was packing for the short trip to Greenland, Sydney reminisced about her victory. When she walked around the corner to his dining area, and found him fully leaning in that chair, she could see the concern that he held prior to her arrival, wash away completely. She had that effect on him when they were alone, and that she considered another triumph.  

His admission of missing her, the first time he had ever verbalized something that intimate, was reward enough for her. She didn't return the gesture, but she hoped that he knew by her actions she felt the same. Well, more than that actually. 

Throughout the year, one of the only things in her life keeping her sanity intact was Sark. She shed many tears by herself for the woman who had continually betrayed her. Late at night in her room, she cried over what was lost, only to wake the next morning, and try to face another day at SD-6. Those days would have been harder to bear if his presence didn't calm her so. Just knowing that he was there on the days and nights she felt the lowest, helped her immeasurably. 

So yes, considering the fact he stayed by her side through some extremely dark times in the past year, she more than missed his presence after the two weeks they had spent apart. She couldn't speak the words, almost didn't want think them, but she was more than aware of the feeling that was there. 

But all of the secrets had gotten to her. Sark closely guarded almost everything in his life. Their intimacy had brought them closer, they were lovers that spent time getting to know the little things about each other, but she still felt at arm's length from him. There was so much he hadn't told her, plans that could direly affect everything around her, and that's what was holding her back. When it came to his business with SD-6 or Irina Derevko, she was as much in the know as the CIA was.  

Yet she couldn't stop the massive grin that spread to her face, after she thought about his kitchen counter. With the last of her things packed, she zipped her carryon. 

"I've seen that smile before." 

Sydney turned to her bedroom door and found Will, standing just inside. Her smile faded slightly from a hint of guilt, and she hoped he took no notice. She nervously curled her hair behind her ear. "What smile?"

He stepped a little closer to her. "That one. You know, the one when you're thinking about someone dear to you." 

Sydney nervously looked down at her suitcase. The remorse she felt after being with Sark, had died substantially during the past year and now was almost to non-existent, but Will's timing, unfortunately, was impeccable. She didn't know what to say, so he continued.

"Francie swears that you're seeing someone and are just not telling us, but for curiosity's sake, is it that he's from the CIA?" 

Sydney forced a smile on her face, hoping it looked genuine. "Do you guys think that I can't be happy without having a guy somehow involved in it?"

"It's not that at all," Will did his best in backtracking. "You just have this air about you, like you've found someone that makes you feel the same way that I feel about Francie."

She did. Her feelings for Sark had progressed almost as quickly as Will's did for Francie. Her best friends had hooked up officially right after her graduation. Sydney saw it coming from a mile away. All the time they were spending together at the restaurant, at home when she was away. It was bound to happen, and she couldn't have been happier for them. But unlike theirs, her feelings were locked away, tucked into that neat box she kept hidden from everybody. 

"If or when that day comes," Sydney reassured him, "you two will be the first to know." 

Her cryptic answer encouraged Will to change the subject. "So where to this time? Tahiti? The Amazon?"

Sydney smirked at his comedy. "Greenland."

His expression showed his surprise after hearing her response. "What the—do you realize it can get close to twenty below there this time of year?"

"It's fully realized," she remarked sarcastically. 

"Sorry, Syd." Will walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek, followed by a hug. "Sloane is a bastard," he whispered near her ear before letting her go. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Thanks, Will." 

She watched as he walked out the door. The fear of him finding out about Sark diminished once he left her sight. Purposely, she pushed it back down to sit with everything else she was going to have to face sooner or later. Preferably much later, if she even had to at all. 

Will hadn't been joking when he mentioned the frigid weather in Greenland. Before she left, she read what the weather was going to be like, but the degree of cold that greeted her was surprising. Even under the multiple layers of thermal clothing, she still shivered slightly. 

The basement area that they had accessed was almost as cold as it had been outside. A thin sheet of ice had formed on the floor, making it difficult to stand. The smell of their location was telling of its inhabitance or lack thereof. Mold and other pungent smells overpowered her senses, but thankfully they weren't going to be there for long, it was close to noon already. Cautiously, they situated themselves in a dark corner. 

"The target will be in place in five minutes."

Sydney heard Dixon's voice through her com link, as he cued them for their entry. She glanced just to her left at Sark, and in the darkness she could see him nod, having just received the same confirmation. With such a short amount of time left, they moved closer to the underground entrance of the building. 

After cutting her communication to Dixon, she whispered to Sark, "We still could have achieved the same results going my route." Her comment was made in jest, since she really did agree that his way in was the most efficient. 

Sark shook his head and smiled at her. "You're impossible."

"I know." Sydney chirped. She turned her earpiece back on, waiting for final confirmation from Dixon. 

Moments later, Dixon rang back through. "Schroeder's in, and has five armed guards with him. They're in my sight if you need me."

At Dixon's directive, they ascended the metal ladder and accessed the main floor of the warehouse. She followed him as they quietly made their way through a room full of large crates, slowly nearing Schroeder and his men. Just before they reached him, Sark stopped, putting his hand up to stop her too. Sydney noticed that only two of the men were in the same room as Schroeder, the rest must have been out guarding the perimeter. 

"I recognize those two," Sark quietly spoke to her. "Irina's here."

Her stomach sank. She wasn't the least bit surprised that her mother was after the same information. This had become the norm over the past year. What came next was the most difficult part. Who would win this round?

"The largest one in the black down jacket, can't fight, but has excellent aim. The man next to him with the oversized nose is the opposite. Your choice." Sark gave her the option.

Up for the challenge, she touched her nose, telling him her choice. Sark went right. Sydney went left. Both did what they could to stay unnoticed. As Schroeder sat at a table, looking through his itinerary, they approached their respective targets. 

She spied Sark across the room, coming within a few feet of his man. She caught his eye and nodded, informing him that she was in place. After taking a deep breath to ease the anxiety she felt, she readied herself for a fight. 

From behind, Sark raised his Glock 18 and held it inches away from his target's head. "Drop the gun, mate." His demand didn't even faze the man, and he remained still. At the same time, Sydney aimed hers at the second man, who immediately took notice of both of them.

"Don't even think about it." She cautioned, also from behind. 

Completely in shock, Schroeder instinctively raised both of his hands in surrender. The look of terror on his face showed that he wasn't familiar with this sort of ambush. 

"We were told you might show," Sark's target stated in a thick French accent. 

Sark ignored him, "I said drop the gun." He jabbed the metal into his head, showing his readiness. Before she knew it, the man Sark had, spun to point his weapon at Sark. His attempt was stopped, as Sark grabbed his arm and gun, throwing it to the side. He slammed the guy's face into a nearby crate. "This would go much more smoothly if you'd just cooperate." His gun dug into the back of his neck now, causing the man to wince. 

Sydney felt her man's wheels spinning, planning some sort of move. Within seconds, his leg swung around, and tried to knock her or her gun away. Her free arm, blocking it, met his leg and then her left foot greeted his neck. He dropped his gun and stumbled backward momentarily, until he was sitting on the table that Schroeder was seated at. She stepped closer, her gun still aimed at his head. 

Sydney turned her attention to Schroeder and demanded the obvious, "We're here to collect the Rambaldi information. Place what you have back in the case and hand it over." 

Taking another chance, the man she held took another kick at her, connecting with her arm and then the side of her face. She immediately felt the skin on her cheek peel as the steel toe boot that he was wearing, broke it. With her gun thrown to the side, she retaliated by bringing her elbow up to his face, hitting him square in the nose. She knew from its size, that it had been broken countless times before, and was probably one of his weakest areas. Sure enough, his hands were drawn to his face, and he screamed in agony. 

She looked to Sark, who was doing what he could to hold the larger man in place. She pushed her man and his broken nose into the nearest crate. "Now!" She demanded to Schroeder, her voice rose slightly. 

Schroeder gathered all of his work and placed it back in the case. His hands shaking, he handed Sydney the thick metal case, and returned his hands to the surrender position. She looked at Sark, who nodded his head, and they both took one last swing at their targets. Sydney bludgeoned hers with the case and Sark used his pistol. Both dropped to the floor, rendered unconscious. 

With another victory under their belts, they both ran toward the area from which they entered and made their escape. 

In a remote area near the airport in Sisimiut, Sydney and Sark sat in their rental van, awaiting Dixon's return from confirming their flight time. After changing into more civilian attire, Sark sat in the front, preparing a cloth with some antiseptic for her face. Sydney sat just behind him, making the final adjustments on her blonde wig. When he was finished, he moved to join her in the middle seat of the van. 

"Here," he placed the soaked cloth on her wound. His hand gently applied the medicine to her face. "He got you pretty good." 

She didn't move her hand to take over the hold on the cloth. Her mind had been whirling over another encounter with someone affiliated with Irina Derevko. Even though they had won this round, there was always another one just around the corner. She smiled at him, overwhelmed by appreciation for another kind gesture of his to "pick up the pieces" in her complicated life. 

"Thank you." Her words were quiet, but endearing nonetheless. The thank you was for more than the antiseptic, and he knew it. On its own, her hand was drawn to his cheek. Softly, she caressed his skin with her thumb. They sat there, silent for a few moments, wondering if the other was going to make a move in public. 

They were both startled when they hear the front door of the van open. 

"Our flight is in thirty… minutes." Dixon's sentence trailed off after catching the end of the intimate display between the two. When they heard the door open, they had both dropped their hands, but it must not have been fast enough. 

Sark's cell phone broke the small amount of silence. He looked at Dixon, then immediately grabbed it to answer. "Sark."

Sydney saw a small change in Sark's reaction after he answered the phone. His eyes shifted slightly to look at her, and then he stood to move past her, exiting the van. Sydney looked at Dixon and smiled. She could tell he was more than curious about what he had just witnessed. Still, he knew that this wasn't the time to discuss it. 

"I know I'm ready to get out of this weather." Sydney told him, as she replaced the cloth on her cheek.  

Dixon climbed into the driver's seat, and they waited for Sark to reenter. He had moved relatively far away from their location, and she could tell the conversation that he was having wasn't the most pleasant. 

Secrets. The look on his face was similar to the one he had last night, before she made her way to him. It appeared that he was either uncomfortable with her being near as he dealt with his business or this "business" had something to do with her. The latter was a frightening thought, and could be the one thing to ruin what they had. This was another one of those times where, despite their intimate relationship, she felt she didn't know him at all.


	4. Soon

Chapter 4 – Soon

His cheek on fire – the imprint of her hand leaving in singed. He hurriedly stepped past her and stepped out of the parked van. How could they have been so careless? There was no need to be so obvious. His hand didn't need to linger, she could have applied the medicine to her face on her own. This was exactly what he feared would happen, and he didn't even want to think about how much Dixon had actually witnessed or worse what he would do. 

All of these thoughts were whipping through his head after Dixon's interruption. The cold outside, rid his cheek of the heat, but the rest of his thoughts only whirled faster. Unfortunately, what took top priority was the phone call that had ended the awkward situation. 

"Mr. Sark." Her voice was quiet, but filled with a high degree of disgust. 

Sark moved farther away from the van, not saying a word until he knew for sure that he was out of earshot. With his silence, she continued. "It's been a long time."

"Irina," Sark felt safe with his distance now, "I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but we both know differently."

She chuckled insidiously, "We do? I surely wasn't aware of that. Before I went into hiding, we seemed to be on fine terms."

Sark averted his eyes to the van, noticing that Dixon was watching him through the rearview mirror. To keep the conversation under wraps, he completely turned away from his view. "Many things seemed fine my entire life, too." Sark's voice was cool, although inside his anger was increasing.

"Now, my boy. You of all people should know what can happen when you poke your nose where it doesn't belong." She taunted him with her playful tone. 

"Interesting." Sark retorted in the same manner, playing her game. "You kept an immaculate account of my life. Yet you figured it wasn't any of my business."

Irina paused, recollecting her thoughts, and getting back to the matter at hand. "How much longer do you think you can pull this off?"

"Whatever do you mean, Irina?" Sark questioned, although he knew what she was referring to. "I've become an important asset to SD-6 and generally like my work there. Especially now, after our great success in Greenland, an op that I was given complete control of."

The moment of silence that followed his statement delighted him. If she wanted to test his wit, he'd show her that not much had changed in that aspect. 

"You know that she's the only reason I allow you to live." 

Her low blow stung, but Sark showed no sign of it. "I hardly think you're _allowing_ me to live. With the hired help you have left, a prime example being the blokes we took care of at the warehouse, I'm sure that I'd have enough warning."

"Some things are better done yourself." The softness of her voice was unnerving.

Sark looked back at the van, knowing this needed to end soon. "But she's had so much loss already; Danny, Noah, and not to mention being rejected by the CIA handler I'm sure you were acquainted with. Another heartbreak for her, and who knows what extremes she might go to. It's tragic, really."

"Oh, I have a feeling that she won't be around you much longer. You're bound to fuck it up somehow, sooner or later. Sydney's never been one to be fond of secrets, you know. With all the lying she has to do daily, not to mention everything that her father and I put her through. I'm not sure if she'll want to keep another liar in her midst." Her tone gradually moved back to showing the same disgust that she had started with. "By the way, how is Arvin Sloane these days? Still alive I believe." Sark felt the pang of guilt in his gut. "What _would_ your mother think?" 

Although he was continuing to get heated over her words, he didn't react. "This war of words is quite tedious. What is it that you want?"

He could hear her smiling through the phone, knowing that she had gotten to him. "To let you know that I'm around. I'm always around." She sighed, now bored with the conversation. "Now, your party has been in that van waiting for you. I wouldn't keep them guessing too much longer."

Irina disconnected, immediately following her statement. Sark took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He looked back at his phone, realizing it was probably the way she had been keeping track of his whereabouts. Her phone calls were to track his signal. None of that mattered now. It could be fixed. What did matter was that she was right. He already knew that his life was on the line, but Irina reminded him of what else would be too, if he didn't do something about it. 

Sark removed the SIM card from his phone and crushed it under his boot. He then placed his cell phone back in his pocket and began heading toward the van. He no longer was worried about what Dixon might've seen between him and Sydney. Based on his conversation with Irina, it seemed he had bigger issues to deal with.

When he opened the door to the van, Dixon eyed him curiously. He didn't even look at Sydney, but could feel the intensity of her stare from behind. __

Oh, I have a feeling that she won't be around you much longer. You're bound to fuck it up somehow, sooner or later.

He watched her from behind as she read another novel. This was partially how they spent their time together. On the couch, with her back pressed against his chest – her reading a book, and him observing every twitch that she made while doing so. Often, they would have discussions on the material that she was reading, or exchange opinions on the author's style, but tonight he was unusually quiet. 

She had been equally as quiet. Since she first entered his apartment tonight, her words had been few, only speaking what was necessary to keep things comfortable. Mildly concerned about it, he reclined a little bit more, and deeply exhaled.

His action drove her to speak. "So, what should I say to Dixon? He's going to ask me about it the next chance he gets."

He had almost forgotten about Dixon, since his thoughts had of course been elsewhere. Really, what information their partner had about them, was nothing compared to what was worrying him. "Whatever you'd like." Sark calmly replied. His brain was beginning to feel overworked, as he tried to decide what his next steps should be. 

Sydney turned her head around to check his seriousness. "Are you sure?"

"Dixon cares a great deal for you. I doubt he would put your well being at risk over something so trivial." Sark brought his hand to his temple, massaging it. 

She faced back around, and laid her head on his chest. "I suppose you're right. As long as we're in agreement."

Sark took her book from her grasp, and placed it on the coffee table, then softly wrapped his arms around her neck. "We are." 

He leaned his head back again, closing his eyes. On most nights, they would sleep like this, usually with her falling asleep first. However, after this long day, he found that he might be the one to first drift off. 

Before he could completely rest, Sydney spoke again. "If you ever need or just want to, you know… talk, we can." The nervousness she felt shook her voice. 

Her words crushed him. He wanted to open up to her, tell her all about his mother, and the lies that they were both told so many years ago. How he was raised, starting in his early teen years, by the person who helped orchestrate all of those lies, and of course the man who murdered the one person that had ever truly cared for him. 

He wanted to tell her that once he had found out the truth about it all, that he dreamt night after night about killing that man, but ever since he had reconnected with him, he found that the task was more difficult than he imagined it would be. 

But he couldn't reveal any of that to her, not right now anyway. 

His prolonged silence must have discouraged her slightly, as she continued. "I just wanted to offer, in case you didn't know already."

Sark kissed the back of her head, and as he spoke, her hair muffled his voice. 

"Soon." 


	5. Reactions

*******A/N – Thanks pie for the beta on the last two chapters. I had a little problem uploading all the italics, hopefully it's not too confusing. 

Chapter 5 – 

The prospect of finding out some bits of information about Sark had her unusually excited that next day at work. Well, that and the fact it was a Friday, raised her spirits. She knew by him telling her something, even just the smallest piece of information about his past, meant they were getting closer. 

Their success in Greenland ensured that they would all have the weekend off, something that she needed. Until then, she would patiently wait until she was allowed to leave. The workday was uneventful, mostly spent typing up a recap of Greenland, and looking over some information about Irina's men that Sloane had dropped on her desk. 

Dixon had yet to confront her about what he had witnessed. Any interaction he had with her was short. He was probably uncomfortable with bringing it up. It was understandable, what he saw was nothing more than a caress, which could have been nothing. Still, she wanted to get it out in the open, so she made the first move. 

Right before the day was over, she stopped by his desk to inconspicuously hand him a note. As she dropped off a few files, she slid the piece of paper onto his lap. 

We need to talk. If possible, after work at the café two blocks down the street, where we sometimes eat lunch. 

She could only hope that he would come. 

The café was mildly crowded, about ten others occupying the small joint. She anxiously waited for her partner to meet her, and after only five minutes, she watched as he walked through the door.  

He smiled briefly as he walked over to her, his eyes showing the nervousness that she had expected to see. Sydney smiled back, hoping that he saw the confidence in her eyes and would hear it in her voice. Dixon sat across from her, as the waitress brought over the espresso that Sydney had ordered for him. 

"Thank you," he told the woman. He looked at Sydney again, informing her that she needed to start. 

"Dixon," Sydney began, her voice quiet, but assuring. "I know how much we both detest keeping secrets from our loved ones, due to the rules we have to abide by at work. Neither of us have many people that we can talk to about what we do, and usually end up relying on each other for any comfort in that area." Sydney began to feel nervous as she approached the matter at hand. "I don't know what I would do without having that outlet, it's part of what has kept me grounded since Danny died." She took a sip of her water before continuing. "That being said, I know I need to give you an explanation about what you saw in Greenland, and I hope with our history, you would trust in me enough to keep it between us." 

The look in his eyes encouraged her to finish. "For the past few months, I've been romantically involved with Mr. Sark." Some of the tension she was feeling subsided after her admission. "Working so closely with him over the past year, forced me to find some common ground. With what we do, a certain amount of trust and respect is required, but the more I began to respect, the more I began to admire. I know his motives in the past have been questionable at best, and to most he's not worthy of any trust, but I feel that I can. I do."

She searched his face for any inclination of what he was thinking. The light smile on his face wasn't telling her much. Thankfully, he decided to speak, "Sydney, when I interrupted the scene in the van, I concluded there was more to your relationship with Sark than the verbal jabs that you both take at each other daily. The look in your eyes told me that more than anything." Dixon placed one of his hands on hers. "Working with Mr. Sark over the past year, has given me more insight of his character, and I too admire some of what he has displayed." His smile deepened as he spoke to her. "I'm not going to say that I believe his intentions with everything, including you, are something I can trust, but I trust you and have faith in the decisions that you make in your life."

Sydney smiled back at him, her relief revealed in her eyes. "Thank you, Dixon." 

"As far as my keeping quiet, I have no issue in keeping that wish, but if he ever gives any inkling of a double cross, I will do what I have to do to keep us safe." 

Sydney nodded her head in agreement. His response was more than she could have asked for. "I can't tell you what this means to me." Dixon removed his hand from hers and began to finish his coffee. 

"Your honesty means a great deal to me too, Syd." Sydney's smile faded slightly with his comment, but hopefully he took no notice. Although it felt good to tell him or anyone for that matter, it still hurt that she couldn't be completely honest about everything. 

Someday it would all be simpler. She wouldn't have to keep her occupation from everyone besides her co-workers. She could lead a normal life and maybe even go into teaching like she had planned. Although her mother had been the driving force behind that decision, it still seemed like something she wanted to do. 

As she pulled into her driveway, ten minutes after leaving the café, she realized that she had been smiling the entire ride. When Vaughn had confronted her last year, her initial reaction was to freak out, but once he had left, she was relaxed. It was a relief that someone else knew about her situation. Now with the combination of Dixon, she felt a little more at peace. 

Her house was unusually dark when she entered. Normally about this time, Will was home, working on his latest assignment from the CIA. When she entered the house, she noted it was only lit by candlelight. Thinking she might have interrupted a special moment between her roommates, Sydney tiptoed to her bedroom. 

"Sydney?" 

She heard Will's voice from the dining room table. She could immediately tell something was wrong by the tone. She changed her route and walked over to him. Will was sitting in one of the dining room chairs, a pile of paperwork in front of him. His eyes were mildly swollen and she noticed a half empty bottle of scotch. 

"Will, what happened?" The look on his face overwhelmed her. She knew this wasn't good. 

Will took the rest of his glass of liquor in one gulp, painfully swallowing. "Michael Vaughn is dead." 

Sydney batted her eyes in disbelief and immediately felt the loss in her gut. She takes the nearest chair, as her knees became weak. "What? When?"

"Supposedly sometime last week. An operation gone wrong they say." Will replied quietly. 

His death was shocking, and she didn't even know how to react to the sad news. She wasn't aware that he had become active again. Then again, why would she be? It had been over a year since any contact had been made between them. 

Will was taking the news awfully hard. "I'm sorry, Will. I didn't know that you two were really close." Sydney shook her head in disbelief, knowing too well what it felt like to lose someone close.

"I wasn't aware that we were either, until I received something in the mail from him." Will looked at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes. She wasn't sure, but it looked as if he had already hit the anger stage of grieving. 

"He sent you something before he died?" Her confusion was obvious. 

Will put the information in front of him in a pile, his hands shaking as he did. "It appears that in his will he requested I be sent some information."

Information. Sydney choked at his last statement. She could feel the burning of tears behind her eyes, and the palpation of her heart increase. They stared at each other for nearly a minute before he spoke again. "How could you?"

"Will…" Sydney tried to explain.

"No!" Will screamed at her. "I don't want to hear some lame explanation that you feel justifies the fact that you're sleeping with that… man!" He spat, the disgust clear in both his voice and eyes. "I have willingly been there for you, covering for you more times than I'd like to admit over this past year. The extensive business trips, the few nights a week you didn't stay a home. All to ensure your secret was kept safe. I did it, no questions asked, because I love you." Tears start flowing down his cheek again. "To find out I was covering for that son of a bitch the whole time fills me with disgust. Your friendship had always been a top priority for me, and I foolishly thought you felt the same."

"I do…"Sydney interjected.

"You do?" He shrieked, as he slammed his hand on the table. "I hardly think shacking up with the man that was ordered to keep me "alive but not comfortable" constitutes top priority. It's more like a kick in the face if you ask me." Will stood and moved past her. "If that's the kind of loyalty you show your friends, I don't want to be on that list."

Sydney also stood, while reaching out her hand to grab his arm. "Will, please." He yanked his arm away, shoving her back in the process. 

"Don't. Just don't." The tears kept falling down his face. "Did you know the extent of the nightmares I used to have about that day? How I thought he had killed me when he first entered the safe house? Or how in my dreams he entered my room at night and finally succeeded at it? He's demented Sydney, and anyone who willingly stays around him is not only foolish, but also bound to end up in some sort of peril."

Will left the room, and walked to his room, slamming the door. Sydney sat back down at the table and buried her head in her hands. Her sobbing became out of control after reading the information Will had left her on the table. 

_Mr. Tippin,_

_As stated in the last will and testament of Michael Vaughn, this packet of information was to be delivered to you. Mr. Vaughn sealed the contents himself, and per instruction the contents weren't to be reopened, but sent to you. _

_His loss has saddened us all, and we can only hope his gesture will keep his memory alive._

Sydney looked through the opened manila envelope, inside were copies of the pictures from Prague, bits of information documenting her relationship from the past year. Obviously Michael had continued to keep tabs on her. Amongst the items, she found another letter, in Michael's handwriting.

Will,

I know that we didn't know each other well, our work didn't really allow for the pleasantries of any sort of friendship, but I feel that I can trust you with this information. What you're about to read may shock you, as it did me when I first found out. The only reason you are receiving this is due to my untimely death and because of a promise I made to Sydney, that I wouldn't reveal this to her father. Needless to say, you were the only other option.

Over a year ago, I was instructed by Jack Bristow to keep tabs on his daughter, due to Mr. Sark's recent addition to SD-6. Mr. Bristow, at the time, felt that Mr. Sark had some intention of harming his daughter or using her for some sort of payback. Reluctantly, I agreed to do so. 

I received confirmation of a relationship brewing between the two, as you will see in the pictures I've enclosed. Upon bringing the information to her attention, Sydney admitted it and reassured me that there was no need to worry. Although I have always trusted her judgment, I still continued to monitor their dealings, for my own peace of mind. What you will find by reading the information is that as of the day of my death, the two are still together, but to my surprise his intentions haven't proven to be anything but honorable. 

I leave this information with you due to how much I care for Sydney and because I wouldn't be at peace if I weren't sure that someone else was watching her back. If anything, please ensure that she keeps safe. 

Sincerely,

Michael Vaughn 

The tears didn't seem to want to stop. The news that Michael Vaughn was actually dead had been devastating. And even though his choice to send this information to Will was poor, the intentions behind it weren't. 

Sydney slowly stood and blindly found her way to her room. After changing into her pajamas, she curled up in her bed, and cried herself to sleep. Mourning the loss of an old love and likely a dear friend. 


	6. Going Home

Chapter 6 – 

He took a deep, prolonged breath, taking in the nearly forgotten aroma of the city around him. Although much had changed, the scent of the city he considered home for a large chunk of his life was constant. 

It had been years, close to twenty, since he'd been back here. The memories that came flooding back, struck a bittersweet chord in his heart. He felt like he was ten years old again, dressed in his proper school clothing while running amuck in the streets with his mates. 

_Misfit_, he remembered being called on one occasion, after colliding with, (and nearly knocking down), an entire fruit stand. 

All that was missing on his trip back down memory lane was Nora. His childhood caregiver and surrogate mom while his mother was away on her extensive trips. Her shrill voice calling out his name, with hope he wouldn't ruin yet another uniform or muss up his perfectly kept blonde hair. He allowed a small smile to form on his face, which grew as he continued further in his journey. 

The rolling green hills in the distance were still as magical now as they were to a ten year old. He remembered pony trekking around the glorious countryside and coastline with his mother. Some of their finest times were created as they fully explored hidden trails, the smooth beaches and rocky terrains, otherwise not accessible by vehicle. It was their time, and with her visits reduced to once a month, and only lasting close to one week, he treasured them more than anything. 

One would think having a mother that popped in so infrequently would have created some feelings of animosity, but as a child, he always knew that he was loved. He may have lost sight of it in his teenage years, when all of the anger that festered had somewhat bubbled over, but once he learned the truth about her, about the situation, he couldn't hate her. Only love remained. 

Eyre Square – the heart of Galway, Ireland. It looked much smaller than he had remembered. It was also more majestic in the memories that he had held in his mind. He didn't ponder it too long. It was too close to four o'clock, and a meeting with an old acquaintance. 

Early Friday morning, Sark had received a call from Micah McAllister, a forty-year-old compulsive gambler that just happened to be in debt to Sark for nearly ten years now. Word had gotten to Micah, that Sark was in search of information on Irina Derevko's whereabouts. Sark wasn't surprised. Micah was just the sort of snake that would barter information for a reduction of his debt. 

"Clean me thirty percent, and you'll get the info you need." Micah threw out his initial figure. 

Sark had lived years without what he was owed, a sum that had reached nearly seventy five thousand. The money wasn't of issue anymore, but still he needed to keep up the appearance that it was. 

"Twenty percent, plus one point interest." 

Micah's brief moment of silence was followed by a sigh. "Twenty-five, plus one point interest. Final offer."

That was that. 

Sark was told to come to his childhood home, and meet Micah at a café just past the fountain in the square. As he approached, he found six tables outside, three of them occupied by patrons. Just as Micah instructed, Sark sat at one of the tables, nonchalantly soaking in the environment. 

The weather was crisp, around fifty-degrees, but the sun was barely poking out of the light gray clouds. A small crowd of people had gathered at the fountain in front of him, most of them reading. In three minutes, he secured the area. 

Around him were two couples, one looked to be American, the other locals. At the last table, the one closest to him on his left, was a well to do woman. Her back was to him, but he could tell her wealth by the expensive white Chanel dress suit with matching hat. He could even smell the strong perfume that she wore, a scent vaguely familiar. 

No signs of bodies on any of the surrounding buildings, and surprisingly, the people near the fountain appeared to be there for their own enjoyment. He allowed himself to slightly relax, but he still kept an eye out. 

Four o'clock came and went. The two couples that had been sitting at the café had left ten minutes ago. Seemingly engrossed in reading a book, the woman in white remained. Sark had a momentary thought of this being some sort of set up. He could be a sitting duck in this wide-open area. He took a last glance at his watch, four twenty three, and decided two more minutes before leaving. 

Just as he was about to stand, he heard a familiar voice next to him. "I have a feeling Mr. McAllister will not be joining you today." 

Sark flinched at the sound of his former boss's voice, coming from the lady in white. Other than a momentary twitch, he remained still, and calm. Knowing she likely rid the world of the slime that was Micah McAllister, Sark lost a bit of hope. 

"One less debt to concern myself with." His response was low, even though there was no one listening.

Irina didn't move either. She continued to speak with her back facing him. "You need to stop digging for information. I'd really hate to see more of your friends lose their lives just because of your nosiness."

"I believe you were the one that taught me the hindrance of having friends." His tone showed her that he was unaffected by Micah's death. "That's one piece of advice you gave that I still hold in high regard today."

"Dear Sark," Irina shook her head slightly. "What is it you're trying to do by gathering information on where I am or what I'm doing? Do you finally realize what little is left between you and your end? Or are you trying to play the knight in shining armor to my daughter by capturing the enemy?"

Sark smiled, more like a devilish grin. "I don't need to _play_ anything when I'm with your daughter. She seems to want to fuck me even without the pretenses."

Irina kept quiet after his last statement, her anger boiling under her crisp white suit. Sark continued, "You're surprised?"

She cleared her throat, while lowering it to show her disgust with him. "Nothing you've ever done to further yourself has surprised me."

"I did learn from the best." 

Sark used her moment of silence to scour his surroundings again. He shook off the feeling of paranoia after finding that nothing seemed out of place. As she broke the silence, he noticed the calm return to her voice. 

"It seems just like yesterday when I came here to take you in." Her voice grew distant with her venture back in time. "You were almost nine years old, such an innocent chap. Your perfectly combed blonde hair that lay flat, sticking to your head. Those ever inquisitive light blue eyes that almost took over your entire face. I still remember the mix of fear and curiosity in them when Nora explained that you were leaving with me, Aunt Irina."

Sark hid it, but inside his mind and heart were racing each other, seeing which could move the fastest. He too remembered the events of that day, not to mention the date. March 23rd. The day that he was told that his mother no longer wanted him around. Her new life in the United States had finally become top priority. She didn't have the time to visit him anymore, nor wanted to spend the money to keep Nora as his guardian. How he hated that day. 

He kept quiet, also recalling the time period that Irina spoke of. "You were convinced that you were going to grow up to be a pilot, just so you could fly your _mommy_ anywhere that she needed to go. She always did complain about the long flights that she took, just to see you. You even said that you would make sure she'd fly for free so she wouldn't have an excuse to not come. Do you remember that?"

Sark felt the grief beginning to choke him, and weakly attempted to clear his throat. Being here in the city that he once considered home, and being unwillingly taken back to the worst day of his life, was too much. In other company he might have broken down, but not with her. She couldn't see him weak, couldn't see that she had affected him so. 

He saw her finally make a movement. Her head slightly turned to look behind her, showing her profile. She wanted to see how badly her words cut him. Sark looked straight ahead, face like stone, but still unable to speak. 

After she returned her gaze forward, she continued. "I told you that you could be anything that you wanted to be…"

Sark interrupted her, his voice thick with anger. "Your words meant nothing. You already had plans for my life that I never could have dreamt at that age."

Irina chuckled, the sound insidious. "True, but the grin that appeared on your face after I told you was priceless. You beamed, wanting so badly to show her that you could be the son that she wanted. Anything to prove to her that you were worthy of her love."

Sark felt his face start to turn red, fuming with each word that she spoke. He couldn't keep the mal feeling from coating his voice. "I was lied to. She was lied to. It would have been different if she had known the truth."

"You think so? Do you think you would have been better off as her monthly visits became bi-monthly, ensuring that no minor detail gave away the reason for her frequent trips? Almost every move that she made was being scrutinized. She likely would have stopped coming anyway. I only saved both of you the heartache." 

Sark shook his head. The way she contorted everything to try and prove her actions were in the best interest of them both was incredible. She had always been good at it, but it was something he admired when it wasn't being used on him. 

"You told her that I was dead." 

Right as Sark finished his sentence, a gunshot rang out to his right. His immediate reaction was to divert his attention to where the sound came from. With the sight of a flock of birds dispersing, he relaxed again, turning his attention back to Irina. 

_She's gone._

Not surprised by her quick getaway, Sark didn't bother to look around for her. Truly, he was glad that she had left. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly while wrapping his jacket around him tighter. His heart ached, almost mourning the loss of his mother all over again. How he wished he had found the information, all the lies that had been told by Irina to keep them apart, before that bastard had killed her. 

With no more hesitation, Sark stood and made his way to his rental, starting to the trip back to the place he considered his new home. 


	7. Fairness

A/N – Thanks pie for the beta! Thanks again for the reviews guys. 

Chapter 7 – 

When the late morning sun woke her up Saturday, tickling her tight, puffy face, she felt no better than the night before. The large knot in her stomach, a large bubble of guilt and loss, almost caused her to double over in pain. It also reminded her that she hadn't had anything to eat since lunch the day before. Even though her body was screaming for some food, the thought of eating made her even more nauseous. 

A feeling of dread consumed her as she sat up in her bed. Neither Francie nor Will disturbed her last night. She fell asleep so quickly and soundly, that she didn't even hear Francie come home. 

She listened carefully for any signs of morning life from outside her bedroom door. On Saturday mornings, her apartment was usually filled with the aroma of breakfast. Traditionally, on weekends that Sydney was at home, Francie would make a large spread. For the past year, all three of them would discuss the small things over a brunch, keeping tabs on the others lives. But today was different; no distinct scent, no noise. 

Figuring the house was empty, Sydney wrapped herself in her robe, and quietly crept out of her room. Just as she suspected, there was no sign of either roommate. Feeling her emotions starting to take over again, she made her way to the kitchen to fix some coffee. Next to the coffee maker was a note in Francie's handwriting. 

_Hey Syd _–

_Will whisked me away on a surprise trip for the weekend. No Saturday morning buffet for you. You'll survive I'm sure. From what he tells me, we might not be back until late Sunday, so don't wait up!_

_Love, _

_Francie_

After pouring herself a large cup of coffee, Sydney walked outside to sit on her front porch. The cool air felt invigorating on her aching face. She didn't want to think about the real reason Will took Francie away for the weekend, or dwell on the death of Michael Vaughn. There would be many more days to be consumed with these thoughts. 

She breathed in the crisp air, and found after a few minutes that her head was cleared. Although she knew the clarity wouldn't last long, she enjoyed the moment.  

The rest of the weekend seemed to drag by. With all of that time alone, she had the opportunity to do some soul searching. Most of her thoughts were centered on Sark, since he was a large part of the problem. She was tempted to just go to his house and voice her thoughts, but they hadn't made prior arrangements. She made it through the time alone, albeit with a total of five hours of sleep over the two-day period. 

Although Sydney had ample time to create some sort of game plan that weekend, her conclusions were few. Things with Will were going to be more than difficult. She knew that they would have to keep up some appearances to satisfy Francie's lack of knowledge about the situation, but beyond that she wasn't sure if anything would ever return to normal. 

Things with Sark needing to change was a given, and she vowed to bring it up the next time they were together. The effort she made recently to get him to open up to her was supposed to initiate a connection. But with the loss of one of her best friends, and the one sided compromises she decided that she had been making over the course of the year, he needed to let her know what place she held in his life. Better to cut ties now, than to continue and be devastated further at a later date. 

Purposely, she kept all thoughts of Vaughn from her mind.  

Monday was no easier than the weekend. The day itself was uneventful, and mostly a blur. There was no pressing mission on the horizon, but that seemed to make things worse. Having nothing to do, gave her more time to dwell on her unhappiness. 

Like normal, Sark dropped off a file with a blue sticky pad attached on her desk – the unspoken invitation to his house. But not like normal, she made no eye contact with him. Keeping her head down in her computer, she muttered a quiet 'thank you'. She noticed that Sark hesitated slightly, but quickly recovered so that nobody else saw. He went back to his desk, but throughout the rest of the day, she felt his eyes on her. 

She barely remembered driving to his flat later that day. The route to his house was normally traveled on autopilot, but this time it seemed different. She didn't realize how badly she was traumatized, and how exhausted she was, until she was standing at Sark's front door, with no recollection of parking her car or ascending the staircase. 

Her emotions were beginning to overwhelm her, but she still managed to dig in the hidden compartment of her purse, and then insert the lone key to his door that she retrieved from it. When she entered, some of her turmoil subsided. She hadn't realized the effect her long weekend alone had on her, until just then. Just knowing that he would be there was slightly reassuring, but she still reminded herself that she needed more. 

A first glance of his place revealed no sign of him. She didn't seek him out either. After dropping her backpack on the chair at the breakfast bar, Sydney walked to the kitchen and a found a nearly full bottle of wine opened, sitting on the counter. Next to it was a wine glass, presumably for her. She was hesitant at first, not sure if she needed anything more to depress her, but decided that one glass and the escape it would bring might do her good. 

Over an hour later, Sydney was on the couch. It had grown dark outside, which was fine with her. The only light in the room was the candle that she had lit in front of her. She didn't entertain herself with anything except the crimson liquid that Sark had left her. The bottle of wine that she had originally only wanted to taste was now almost empty. Although she should have been concerned that Sark still hadn't shown up, her inebriated state threw all of her worries out the door. 

Another hour, a now completely empty bottle, and finally she heard the click of the lock. By then, any nervousness she felt in his absence had transformed into anger. That, combined with the alcohol, made for a livid Sydney. 

When Sark entered the darkened room, she heard a slight hesitation in his step. Quietly, he locked the door, assuming that she was asleep. After a few moments, Sydney watched as he entered the living room area, stopping at the couch. 

Her voice made her words sound coarse. "Was it necessary to keep me waiting by myself for so long?"

Sark carefully eyed her, attempting to assess her mood. After glancing at the empty bottle on the table, he chose his words. "I had a few things to take care of. I apologize."

Sydney chuckled at his response. A few things to take care of could mean so much in Sark's world. A few people to maim or blackmail. Surely not the "normal" few things one does after work, such as light shopping, or a good workout. 

"Right." Her tone was completely cynical. "Another five minutes and I was going to leave."

He looked at her, unfazed by what she was saying. "I hope you'd have more sense than to drive after drinking an entire bottle of wine."

Sydney set her glass on the table in front of her, almost knocking it over in the process. When she sat up, she felt completely lightheaded. "Well we -- I mean I, could just add that to the list of 'what the hell was I thinking'." She brought her hands to her temples, softly massaging them. 

Sark took a seat on the chair next to the couch, and after close to a minute of silence he spoke. "Did you want to talk about it?"

She laughed again, while shaking her head in disbelief. "What, so I can continue to open up to you and receive nothing in return?" When she met his eye, she saw something flash in them. Her words, and her curt tone, were indeed getting to him. "Out of all the people that I know, you should be fully aware of the vulnerability that is exposed when a person places all of their cards on the table."

"Sydney," Sark sighed, "I'm trying to keep you out of that part of my life." His lips tighten, feeling the need to not elaborate. 

"That's the thing, it's part of your life." Sydney couldn't hold in the few tears that fell down her face. "I'm supposed to keep sharing all aspects of my life with you, exclusively be romantically involved with you, even share your bed…" Her voice trailed off so she could regain control. "But when it comes to the slightest reciprocation, it's all off limits. Did you ever once think that I could maybe help? I'm not some flower that needs to be handled delicately."

"I know that it seems unfair…"

Sydney angrily wiped the tears from her face as she stood. "Please, spare me the ending to that sentence." Her eyes sparked with resentment. "You want to talk about unfair? Unfair is the way that you keep me at arms length. Unfair is the fact that every person I love ends up getting hurt, or worse. Unfair is losing one of my best friends due him finding out that I'm involved with the man that had a hand in torturing him." Her sobbing worsened with each word that came out. Trying to avoid some embarrassment, she began to walk toward the door. "Actually, what you're doing to me isn't unfair. It's cold and calculating." 

After grabbing her backpack from the chair, she turned to go to the door, but was startled as she came face to face with Sark. The concern in his eyes was evident, but she didn't care. Her drunken anger took over her body, making her decisions for her. 

"Move."

Sark didn't bat an eye, nor did he do as she directed. With her eyes, she silently challenged him. When she moved right, he followed her. Same when she moved back the other way. Sydney brought her hands to his chest to push him out of the way. He stopped her by grabbing her wrists, holding her hands tightly to his chest. 

The look in his eye somewhat worried her. He wasn't going to let her leave. She expected a struggle after she ripped her hands from his grip. Instead, he tried his best at consoling her. "I heard about Michael Vaughn." His mood changed instantly. His voice was soft, as was his hand when he placed it on her cheek. "I'm sorry." He used his thumb to wipe away the continuous stream of tears that fell. 

Sydney didn't hold back her emotions any longer. All of the frustration she felt was beginning to subside. His touch seemed to be easing some of her pain. "He wanted me to be happy, so he never told anyone that he knew about you. What we're doing was against everything on all sides, and he knew that, but kept his promise to me regardless." 

Sark pulled her in to him, running his fingers through her hair. Softly, he kissed the top of her head, and let her cry. 

"He was such a good man." She stammered in between her sobs. Sark continually stroked her hair with his hand, and pulled her even tighter against his body. 

"I'm sorry, Sydney." He quietly murmured in her hair. 

That night, Sydney used him as her pillar of strength. She didn't ask any more questions, even though she still needed the answers. The urgency that she felt to find those answers was put on the backburner, as mourning her loss and finding a way to repair her broken friendship were pushed forward.  


	8. Ill At Ease

*****A/N – Everyone still awake? Thanks for the reviews guys. All support/feedback is treasured. FYI – This story has probably 4 or 5 more chapters left. Thanks again to pie for the beta. 

Chapter 8 – 

_I'm sorry, Sydney._

Immediately after dropping off the file at her desk, he knew things weren't right with her. Days ago, and mere hours before he received the call from Micah McAllister, he opened an email from one of his many sources. _Michael Vaughn confirmed dead,_ was all that it read. All the while that Vaughn was keeping tabs on Sark, Sark was also keeping tabs on Michael Vaughn. 

But his apology was for much more than Michael Vaughn's death. The first words out of her mouth, and the empty bottle on the table, told him that things would probably get ugly. He almost predicted her exact reaction, and tongue-lashing. That was partially why he procrastinated in meeting her at his place. He couldn't blame her for being angry with him, but he also couldn't elaborate just yet. It would all be over soon enough. 

That night, Sydney slept against his body as usual. However, her nearly naked body seemed to cling tighter than normal to him as she slept, craving the only contact with him that she could get.

How could he explain to her that she was the only link to him living? His ex-boss more than informed him that there was little left between him and death. How could he tell her what he had planned for the bastard that killed his mother? He had spent the past year trying to overcome her preconceived notions about him. What would she do, or think, about the monstrous act he planned to commit? Then again, given her history with Arvin Sloane, maybe she had thought about doing the same once or twice. 

He sighed, a little distressed that it had to be this way. She was right. She had completely opened up to him, and he had been selfish. And now that she had lost her friendship with Will Tippin due to him, he knew that he had to do something. 

The next night, Sark waited patiently in the dimly lit parking lot, purposely standing under one of the only lit light fixtures. What he was about to do felt completely awkward, and he was overly nervous. Never in his years of work had he faced a person whose life he had adversely affected, without it centering on further mal intentions. 

An hour after closing, just as he had calculated, Sark spied Will and Francie leaving the closed restaurant together. He watched as Will wrapped his arm around Francie's shoulder, pulling her to him, and laughing in her hair. Each step that they took in Sark's direction, the cramp in his stomach worsened. He took one last deep breath, relieving some of the pain, but his exhale was cut short when he noticed Will looking in his direction. 

A look of fear contorted Will's face, but as he glanced back at Francie, he hid it. Rather well, Sark observed. Will whispered into Francie's ear, causing her to smile and look in Sark's direction. After smiling at Sark, she kissed Will, and then headed to her car. 

Once she was secured in her vehicle, Will wiped the pleasant look from his face. Slowly, he walked over to his vehicle, right where Sark was standing. 

"You have a lot of nerve coming here," Will growled, with a look that matched his tone. "Just as you are, I'm sure, I am armed." He pulled back his jacket to reveal a small pistol. 

Sark smiled lightly. Although Will was completely right in his behavior, Sark couldn't help but be amused. Sark also pulled out his jacket and completely turned around, showing Will that he wasn't armed. "I had every intention of keeping this meeting civilized."

"The only thing about you that seems civilized is your accent." Will scoffed. 

Sark nodded his head once. _Touché_.

Will stopped within five feet of Sark, challenging him. Sark didn't back down, but he did break the silence. "She's hurting, you know."

Will blinked, almost in disbelief. "And you assume that I'm not?"

"Honestly, I could care less whether you are or not," Sark replied, coolly. "But she didn't do any of this to purposely hurt you."

"She might not have set out to hurt me, but she did," Will retorted, while eyeing him. "How does a man like you live with all that he's done?" 

Sark seemed unfazed by his question. "Are you sure you want the answer to that, mate?" Sark watched as Will's eyes narrowed to a glare. "Mr. Tippin, would you feel better about this if you got to take one free shot at me? Make me feel some of the pain that you went through?" 

"Actually I'd feel better if you weren't really here to dredge up the memories that I'd nearly forgotten until recently."

"Well, I'm afraid that's not an option." Sark spoke calmly, hoping to put Will at ease. "This past year has been tough on her. Losing her mother all over again, only to gain her as an enemy, the death of Michael Vaughn, and then you. Do you realize what you will be putting her through if you keep with the cold shoulder? And over something that is truly so small in comparison to the depth of your friendship." 

Will quietly stared at Sark for nearly a minute, the look on his face indescribable. Although, his words gave somewhat of an explanation, "You really care about her, don't you?" 

Sark shifted his eyes from Will, obviously uncomfortable. "This isn't about me." Sark met Will's stare again, keeping any emotion from his face. "She needs good people around her right now. I only hope you can move past whatever it is that you're holding onto, and remember what she means to you." Sark began to walk away, but paused for a moment. "She shouldn't know that I was here. Nobody should." He took one last glance in Will's direction and continued off into the darkness. 

At his desk the next day, Sark readied his documents for Sloane's approval. _Approval,_ he scoffed at the thought. _He has no idea how little his approval means to me. _He couldn't help but feel smug about having the upper hand over this man. 

But like all of his previous updates, Sark gathered more of the false intel that he had been continuously offering to Sloane; satellite feed, eyewitness accounts, even forged receipts. The outside help that he received from various people that owed him, was enough to keep this charade going for almost a year and a half. It also was enough to keep the old sap begging for more. 

"Mr. Sark," Arvin Sloane's voice came from just outside his office. "I'd like to see you for a few minutes."

After securing his workstation, Sark made his way into Sloane's office. Their monthly private meetings were usually short, only lasting around five minutes. All the same, Sloane wanted all updates on the private research Sark had promised him right before he first joined SD-6. 

Sark sat in a chair across from Sloane, placing a set of papers on his desk. Sloane took them and carefully read over the contents before sighing. "He must be pretty resilient. Every time we get close, he eludes us."

"It does seem that way, sir." Sark responded. "I was told that we missed him by less than an hour this time." 

Sloane sat back in his chair, covering his mouth with his hand. Sark could tell how anxious he was getting, and secretly, he smiled inside. 

"Next time." Sark offered.

He prepared to stand, figuring the meeting was over, until Sloane spoke. "You know, when you first came to me with this, I had serious doubts." Sloane's eyes grew distant as he continued. "The news that you brought was so unbelievable, yet at the same time _very_ believable, given what I've seen."

Sloane sighed again, so Sark spoke. "I hardly believed it myself, until I did some digging. She covered her actions quite well."

"I suppose you're right." Sloane agreed. "Although part of it, I'm sure, was due to my own ignorance." Sark watched the disbelief on Sloane's face. "It all makes sense now. The "break" that she wanted to take early in our marriage, the monthly "business" trips. Never in my wildest dreams, would I have thought my wife would bear my child in secret, and then proceed to keep him from me." 

"It is quite astounding, isn't it? I will let you know when I have more intel." Sark proceeded to stand, and walked out of Sloane's office. He couldn't hide the smirk that appeared on his face as he left.  


	9. Moment of Happiness

******A/N – Two chapters for the price of one. Thanks for the reviews guys. This has been a fun ride. Special thanks to Rhien for the beta, amongst other things. There are two more chapters left in this series and both will be posted at the same time, likely within the next week and a half. 

Chapter 9 – 

Close to a week went by before she saw Sark again privately. It wasn't a deliberate break, both of them were quite busy, but as Sydney drove to his house, she planned for it to be a somewhat awkward reunion. They still hadn't talked about their last night together. 

In the span of a week, they'd had three missions to complete, with the help of Dixon of course, but the ops were too short to share any alone time. Since they weren't Rambaldi related there were no surprise guests. Just three smooth ops, with equally smooth counter ops. It was a relief to have some sort of success. Anything to feel that what she was doing still had a point, some sort of purpose. 

She also felt some relief concerning her personal situation, and she could pinpoint the exact reason why. 

The night after she had cried herself to sleep in Sark's arms, Sydney made it home from work at her usual time. Like every other day she could remember, Will was home, and she figured he would be working on some new assignment for the CIA. She crept in the house, walking directly to her room, still believing that any start of conversation would be futile. 

Once inside the safety of her room, she stripped herself of her normal black suit combination and chose a comfortable sweat suit. She knew what happened between her and Will from now on would be his call, but of course she deeply hoped that he would break the ice sooner than later. 

She was, of course, completely surprised and slightly apprehensive, when she heard a light tap on her door, just as she finished changing. 

"Yeah." 

Preparing herself for another confrontation, Sydney sat on her bed. When the door opened, she hoped for a civil conversation, but wasn't raising her hopes. _If that's the kind of loyalty you show your friends, I don't want to be on that list._ His words from that night still haunted her. The pain that he was feeling had to be immeasurable. Although, she was surprised to see a weak half smile on his face as he peered through the door. 

"Hey," he broke the silence. 

"Hey," she answered back, a myriad of emotions mounting when she saw some serenity on his face. Will hesitantly walked into her room, holding two glasses of wine, and looking like he was seeing the room, and her, through new eyes.  

"Um," He could barely stand to keep eye contact. "I was hoping that we could talk." He handed her a glass of wine, almost a peace offering in her eyes. She accepted it gladly, anxious for whatever that followed.

"Anything," she replied, craving everything that he had to say. 

Will sat next to her, close to an arms length away. He appeared uncomfortable, and every inch of her just wanted to reach out and hug him, but she kept her distance. The words that he began with almost broke her heart. 

"Sydney, you know that I love you…" Those words were normally followed by a break up of sorts – a regular excuse for leaving somebody behind in a relationship. 

_What they had was different._ Deep down she believed it, and hoped that he did also. Ever since she'd saved him over a year ago, their relationship had changed. They had a closeness that neither one of them had elsewhere now. They were a kindred pair. Still, given all that, she looked at him with hope, begging for whatever forgiveness that he may have been offering.

"I love you," Will continued, "but I was _completely_ thrown, and hurt by your actions." Will didn't make eye contact with her yet. It appeared to her that he was repeating a speech that, knowing him, he prepared beforehand. "Everything that I knew was kicked out from under me when I found out that you had been seeing… Sark." She flinched at the sound of his name rolling awkwardly off of Will's tongue. "I've had my stints of jealousy when it comes to the men you've been with, but this was something way different. Something that I never would have seen coming. You, with a man of such notoriety, not to mention what happened to me while I was in his hands." He finally looked up at her, with mist glazing over his eyes. "You've had a tough year Sydney. I don't need to explain what you've been through. My reaction… well, I reacted badly." 

She almost couldn't believe her ears. Her eyes revealed her relief as a steady stream of tears fell from them. Thankfully, he continued because she couldn't speak. 

"We've been through too much together to let this lessen the depth of our friendship. I know that you obviously didn't set out to hurt me, although you did. But you have to deal with so much everyday, and as I said before, I love you enough that I want to be there for you. In whatever shape you want me to be." 

She didn't remember much after that. He told her that he was going to be there for her regardless. She could be happy on both fronts without any losses. There was an exchange of hugs, an embrace that lasted a few minutes. More tears, from them both, and happiness – mostly from her. He would be fine with it, not right away, but the possibility was there. 

She smiled as she walked up the staircase of Sark's building. The gait in her step was evident, and after what seemed like weeks of turmoil, she was happy again. As she reached his door, she froze, hearing what sounded like a heavy thump against the wall near her. She listened for any other noise, but the walls were too thick. 

Cautiously, she inserted her key in the lock, turning it slowly.  


	10. Naked

****A/N – Had problems with some of the italics again, hopefully it's still okay. 

Chapter 10 –  

Fuck. He cursed to himself as he left the Credit Dauphine building for the day. This changes everything now. 

Only when he slid into the leather seat of his Mercedes, did he relax slightly. _Fucking Will Tippin. _He knew that bloody fuck wit reporter would be the death of him someday. 

Right before Sark was set to leave his desk, Sloane approached him. "Would you mind stepping into my office for a minute?" 

When he stepped into the office, Sloane immediately began speaking, at the same time writing furiously on a piece of paper. "I know that you just updated me on the location of my son, but I wanted to go over some last bits of information." Sark watched him, concerned about his questioning, but more confused by his scribing. 

"Did you need me to bring back in my documentation?" 

Sloane looked up after he finished what he was working on. "I don't think that will be necessary. I've decided that I'm going to be more active in the search," Sloane handed him the slip of paper and continued speaking as Sark read what was written. 

Ignore what I'm saying and read this. 

I have a matter that needs to be handled, and its delicate nature disallows me to speak it aloud. I discovered recently that Will Tippin is working for a magazine that's actually a front for the CIA. I feel that enough time has passed since his story was published, and I would like him eliminated. The information he has, and might still be getting for all that we know, is too accurate. The CIA knows too much as it is. 

Your discretion is appreciated in this, and I will allow you to dispose of him as you wish. I didn't inform the security section, or anyone in the Alliance, about this, due to the "connections" Mr. Tippin has with our office. I'm sure that you understand 

His stomach dropped after reading what was written. Of all the things he could have been asked to do. Keeping up appearances, Sark made eye contact with Sloane and nodded once, agreeing to his terms. 

The irony killed him, but given the fact that Sloane came to him about this showed Sark that he was a right hand man of sorts. Also, better him than security, or else it would be the end for Will Tippin. 

_A temporary set back, _he reassured himself. _Just need to move things up is all. _

Sark's mind was spinning the entire ride back to his house. Sloane was right about a few things; this matter was of a delicate nature and needed to be handled with discretion. Although the matter that he was thinking of was not the death of Will Tippin. 

Plans that were over a year in the making, had to be executed with extreme precision. If he wanted everything to end right, no minor detail could be missed. He forced his brain to stop when he entered his apartment. 

He checked the time, six fifteen, remembering that Sydney was due to arrive in about five minutes. He was in the middle of opening a bottle of wine when he heard a knock at his door. Suspecting that she had forgotten her key, Sark went over to let her in. 

Fuck me.

When he opened the door, she wasn't there – Jack Bristow was. His face was just as it appeared in office; beady eyes that constantly glared, and thin lips that revealed the level of foulness in his mood. Right now his lips were almost nonexistent. Sark knew that he was peeved at something. 

"Mr. Bristow," Sark announced. "To what do I owe this surprise visit? Although, I'd appreciate it if you could make it quick, I've got things to do."

Jack looked around the hall, silently telling him that he wanted privacy. Sark stepped aside, trying not to appear as hesitant as he felt, allowing Jack to enter his apartment. Jack began speaking right as Sark shut the door. 

"I knew that you had something up your sleeve when you first came to SD-6," his voice was low, but his words were spat with a hint of loathing. Sark showed no sign of emotion, although he grew slightly worried. Jack Bristow was a smart man with countless resources, and he knew something. "Never did I suspect it was for this."

Sark crossed his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow, "You have me intrigued. Enlighten me."

Jack hesitated before continuing. "You will not complete the assassination attempt that Sloane is sending you on."

"Sloane changed his mind that quickly?" Sark did nothing to hide the mocking in his tone. 

"No, _I'm _ordering you to not complete it. _I will take care of Mr. Tippin." _

He watched Jack. Even though Sark had no intention of following through with Sloane's orders, it was still necessary to keep up his appearance. "What is it that you feel for this lowly reporter? First, an exchange of Rambaldi documents, and now you're compromising yourself for him? You're breaking some of the major rules in the game with this protective tendency of yours."

"That's my business. An outsider such as you wouldn't have a clue." 

Sark failed to suppress the chuckle that was caught in his throat. "One would normally learn the dangers of forging such absurd ties, unless of course there only purpose was to fulfill physical or business needs, after one's wife completely fucked one over. Now if you'll excuse me, as I said, I have a job that I need to tend do." 

Closing the short distance between them, Jack grabbed Sark by the collar of his shirt, shoving him up against the wall. "You touch Will Tippin and it will surely be one of the last things that you do."

Even though Jack's fist was tightly pressed against his Adam's apple, Sark found his voice, "Threatening to kill me is futile, Mr. Bristow. Not only have I been through worse, it would be impossible to cover up your actions."

"I never said that _I_ would be the one to do the deed, but your _father_ might be quite interested in your plans for him." Jack's stare pierced through Sark's skin. His beady glare, and the loathsome word _father that was spit from the old man's throat,ignited a fire of nervousness and anger in Sark.   _

Before Sark could retort, he heard the light click of his door being unlocked. He closed his eyes, knowing all too well who was here, and bracing himself for what was going to follow her arrival. His instinct kicking in, Jack grabbed his pistol from his waistline, immediately aiming it at the opening door. Even though Sark's eyes were still closed, he knew that Jack was still watching him. 

Sark opened his eyes when he heard the creak of the door. He didn't look in its direction, but kept facing Jack, straight faced and calm. The look that flashed on Jack's face surprised Sark. It was the first true emotion, besides anger, that he'd ever seen the man make. Confusion first, as he saw Sydney open the door. Shock, as she slowly stepped in the room. Disappointment and anger when he put everything together; the key to Sark's apartment that was still in her hand, her full backpack, and a bottle of wine that she was carrying. 

He could hear Jack thinking now about what Sark had said moments before. _One would normally learn the dangers of forging such absurd ties, unless of course there only purpose was to fulfill physical or business needs…_

"Dad." 

Sark felt a lump in his throat, near Jack's fist, at the timid sound of her voice. 

Jack turned back to Sark, his eyes pure fury. "You son of a bitch," his words slid through his gritting teeth. 

Sark wasn't sure if Jack would be the sort of man to strike him, so he braced himself for anything. Before Jack could make a move, Sydney rushed over to him, placing a hand on her father's arm. 

"Dad, what's this about?" The nervousness in her voice was evident. 

Jack released his grip on Sark, turning his attention to Sydney. "I should be asking you the same question, although I'm not sure that I need to." He looked at the three objects that she had just placed on the breakfast bar. 

"I didn't want you to find out this way…"

Jack stepped farther away from Sark, closer to the door. "What way, Sydney? Did you think that you could manipulate this _situation to me to where I would show some acceptance? After everything he's done, and especially now that Sloane has instructed him to do more than torture your best friend this time?" _

Sark felt his heart jump painfully when he saw the look of utter disbelief that came across Sydney's face. With her mouth agape for a moment, he could tell that she had to force herself to speak. 

"What are you talking about?" Her stare switched between the two men. 

Sark couldn't speak. Jack Bristow's allegiance to Arvin Sloane had always been questionable to him. He knew that the two older men had been friends for many years, and had no clue if Jack would attempt to protect the man. 

Jack pushed past his daughter, reaching for the door. "You need to know who it is that you're dealing with here Sydney and I'm not comfortable continuing in the presence of the prodigal son." Jack opened the door still looking at Sydney, obviously wondering what she would choose to do. He took her hesitance as her choice, and quietly closed the door behind him.  

They stood alone in the room, staring at each other. He had too many things to say, but couldn't decide where to begin. After close to a minute of silence, Sydney changed her mind, and walked to the door. 

Sark quickly closed the gap between the two of them, reaching out for her wrist. "Don't."

Sydney's hand froze on the doorknob. She looked at him like he was a stranger, like they hadn't been exclusive for more than a year. "You were going to kill him?" The tears had formed in her eyes even before she spoke. 

"No." He replied defiantly. "I wouldn't do that."

"You have before, a few others and if you don't Sloane would…" 

"Fuck _Sloane_, Sydney. That bastard couldn't touch me if he tried." 

Tears welled up in Sydney's eyes. Sark knew this had to be torturous, realizing that she could've had to choose between him and Will. They stood in more silence, and he could tell that her mind was slowly digesting the situation. 

"What did he mean by prodigal son?" 

His heart made a second agonizing jump, her words forcing a lifetime of anxiety to consume his entire body. If he kept tight lipped now, she would leave, likely never to return. It was now or never. 

If he revealed his plans, himself for that matter, he'd be exposed and found that to be more horrific than an Arvin Sloane or Irina Derevko. He released her hand and ran it through his hair, before walking over to sit on the couch. 

_Now or never, _he repeated. 

"When I was younger," Sark began, "I never thought twice about how much my mother loved me. Although she was only able to see me one week out of the month and I was never told a word about my father, things in the house weren't rough. I had a guardian that was close enough to the real thing." After a few moment of him speaking, Sydney followed and sat next to him. "My childhood was as normal as it was allowed to be. That was until right before I turned ten." 

He cleared his throat, but showed little emotion as he relived the pain that he felt back then and the pain that he had felt after discovering all of the lies and betrayal. Sydney sat upright, in shock, tentatively waiting for his admission. 

"I've known Irina my entire life. My father was just over five years in the CIA, and Irina, at that time Laura Bristow, showed my mother proof of his occupation. She also informed her that he was just beginning to sway to the darker side of the job. Irina's original plan was to have my mother do some light investigating of her husband, for the good of the United States. My mother agreed, and did so for close to six months. Until she found out that she was pregnant." 

Sydney seemed to be listening intently. He knew that his words didn't give light to much, but he figured that she wouldn't fully understand unless she knew nearly the entire story.  

"Both women knew that leaving him wasn't an option, since his connections only grew by the day. So Irina offered to help my mother by purchasing her a house, finding a sufficient obstetrician and caregiver, even assisted her in taking secretive flights overseas to see me after I was born. When I was eight, Irina told my mother that she was going to fly me to Russia for the holidays, since my mother was unable to make it that year. I don't remember much about that trip, but from what I've read, I was involved with a program similar to one the CIA called 'Project Christmas'."

He thought that he heard her take in a sharp breath, but couldn't be sure. Still, he continued. "I was one of the few who scored perfectly on the tests and also needed little to no assistance in the project. To her I was the perfect specimen; genius and son of an upcoming powerhouse in the CIA."

Sydney appeared confused, but Sark didn't appease her right away.  

"Just over a year later, Irina arranged my death. My caregiver was on her payroll so it was easy to pull off. My mother received the news of my untimely death, and I received my own set of news on why my mother no longer wanted to visit me anymore. Irina raised me from then on." 

Sark paused long enough for Sydney to speak, "God, I had no idea." Nothing more could be said, Irina Derevko wasn't her mother, Laura Bristow was. 

"Neither did I until almost two years ago." The ache in his gut cramped tighter, twisting his insides. "I discovered that Irina had lied to my mother, and to me. As I did more research, I found my mother, her last known address in Los Angeles, and that she had died a few months before. In that same research, I found out that my father was her widowed husband, and that he had killed her to gain his spot in the Alliance."  

It quickly registered with Sydney, causing her to speak, "Sloane."

"He killed her." Sark didn't falter one bit, but inside he grew angrier as he voiced it. 

"So you were up front with me in Paldiski when you told me that you had planned to kill Sloane."

Sark stood and went to the kitchen with her eyes following his every move. "Partially, as you already know." 

He was glad that Sydney didn't ask anymore questions as he poured them both glasses of wine. Although his admission should have relieved him some, he felt more anxious than ever. His uneasiness wasn't from the situation itself, but from the woman sitting on his couch, and her forthcoming reaction to what he had just confessed. 

When Sark looked in her direction, on the couch where he last saw her, she wasn't there. Before he could step to find her, Sydney's hands slid under his arms from behind, coming to rest on his pecks. Her breath was warm through his dress shirt, comforting as she rested her head against his back. 

Her left hand lay against his aching heart, soothing it more than she probably knew. Sark exhaled deeply as some of the pressure around his chest dissipated. He placed his hands on hers, removing them from his chest so he could turn around. The softness of her face killed him, but at the same time blew away his previous concern over her reaction to him. 

Her hands were equally as soft as they took his face, bringing his lips to hers. She went slowly, delicately pressing her mouth against his. He looked into her dark, passionate eyes, watching her with an unspoken adoration. When the warmth of her tongue entered his mouth, stroking his with the utmost skill, his heart twitched again, but this time there was no sting. 

His hands somehow found their way to her face, then immediately slid to her hair. He returned the intensity that she displayed in her lips after he had touched her, crushing them as they intertwined. Unable to sustain, Sark closed his eyes, releasing most of the fear that he had been holding in. He bared himself to her and she didn't flee, didn't exchange verbal blows, but stayed, still wanting him. Their hunger for each other gradually amplified, mindlessly guiding them to his room. 

Clothes were quickly removed. Some by their own hand, the rest by the other party's. Undergarments were also disposed of, leaving them both lying on the bed, nude. Sark still felt a twinge of apprehension over his revelation. He trusted her, truly did, another feeling that was unfamiliar to him. As he continued to kiss her, fingers wrapped in her hair, he noticed dampness on her face. Almost abruptly he stopped the kiss. 

"Sydney…" She had to know how much her reaction meant to him. 

Sydney placed a finger on his lips, a few more tears sliding down her face as she spoke, "Shhh. Please."

Her actions after that told him that she was okay, that her tears weren't derived from any sort of anguish. She brought his face to her lips, kissing down the line of his jaw, finishing with taking his mouth again. Moments later, her hand was reaching for his hardened manhood, guiding him into her. 

Sark felt the sensation of being inside her rip through every part of his exposed body. The feeling of being with someone, all guards down, nearly every card on the table, opened doors that he never knew existed. Slower than he had been in all of his previous encounters with women, he slid himself in and out of her, reveling in her and in his own comfort. 

To him, that night with her was the pinnacle of their existence together thus far. Even though neither one of them said a single word, the way they looked into each other's eyes as they made love revealed their feelings. He'd known what he felt for some time, but wasn't quite sure if she had considered him the same. 

So late that night, when he was thinking about what had just transpired and of the days to come, he shook in an unknown place, somewhere around his core. Her words as he was near drifting off, so quiet, but heartfelt caused the jolt. Forget Arvin Sloane, Irina Derevko, even Jack Bristow for that matter. They all had little significance in his life when she spoke. 

"I love you."


	11. The Day I Tried To Live

*******A/N – Thanks to pie for the beta on this and to Soundgarden for the much needed inspiration. 

Chapter 11 – 

I woke the same as any other day  
Except a voice was in my head  
It said seize the day, pull the trigger,  
Drop the blade  
And watch the rolling heads

****

Words you say never seem  
To live up to the ones  
Inside your head  
The lives we make  
Never seem to ever get us anywhere  
But dead

Lyric excerpts from 'The Day I Tried To Live' by Soundgarden

Things happened somewhat quickly after that.

The same night that Sark told Sydney about his past, her father took Will into protective custody. His stay was short lived though, lasting only a week. The details surrounding Will's brief stint weren't revealed to her, which absolutely killed her. She'd lost some of her father's trust, how much she didn't know, but enough that he kept everything about Will completely out of her reach. Sydney was stuck. Even though she knew that Sark had no plans to follow through with Sloane's orders, she couldn't prove it to anyone without revealing their relationship. 

What truly surprised her was that her father didn't release the information either, at least not to anyone that she knew of. Although, so much happened in even the first hours of the next day, there was really no time for questions of that nature. 

When she woke the morning after, six o'clock like normal, she was saddened to find Sark not next to her. Her hand lightly caressed his Jacquard sheets, running the length of his body imprint next to her, before rising to see if he was still around. His apartment wasn't that large, so after a brief meander, she concluded that he had indeed left already. .

This wasn't the first time that he was gone before she woke, but she thought today would be different. He would be different. She sure was. She took a moment to reflect on the most incredible night of her life as of late.

She couldn't keep her emotions intact after Sark revealed his past to her. Granted there was much more to the story, she was sure, but his gesture was endearing. He trusted her, just as she did him. She could see the anguish written all over his face as he stood in the kitchen pouring the wine. A man of so many secrets, who just spilled a good amount to pacify a lover's need to know, was bound to feel negatively about his decision. 

But she appreciated it, more than she could ever show him. She had cried from happiness, feeling the wall between them was mostly gone. That was why she dared to finally say the words that had been in her heart for some time, words that were supposed to be joyous, except they terrified her. So much that she could only say them at a whisper, and after she was sure that he was asleep.  

Back in his room, she noticed a good amount of his things were gone; most of his suits, a suitcase, and the box where he kept some personal belongings that she had never seen. In the box's place, she found a note – short, but just enough to keep her reassured. 

Will be in touch as soon as possible. Things will work out for those who matter. Enjoy your new life. 

Sydney choked on the last words. _Enjoy my new life? _He said that he would be in touch soon, but what was this new life he was speaking of? Her heart grew slightly heavy, anxious, knowing this would be the last time she would see him in this apartment. She feared the worst was yet to come. 

Sure enough, when she made it into work that morning, news buzzed around SD-6 of Arvin Sloane's disappearance. Since Sark's was considered to have ulterior motives when he joined SD-6, his disappearance, discovered days later, was of no surprise to all, nor was any connection made between it and Sloane's. Sydney knew that her father suspected something foul, but he made no effort to talk to her about it. She wouldn't have had much to say anyway, she knew probably as much about Sark's plan, and his relationship with Sloane as her father did. 

That was just the beginning of an odd day. 

Near midday, both Sydney and Jack received urgent, cryptic messages informing them that they were needed at the CIA. After covering their tracks at SD-6, they met with Kendall, and surprisingly many other high-ranking officials. After she heard the first announcement, the rest of the meeting was a blur.

"Early this morning, we received an untraceable email giving us codes to a forty-seventh server at SD-6. Upon receiving confirmation of its validity from Jack Bristow, and finding all of the information that we needed, we've been instructed to infiltrate all of the SD cells." 

_New life. _

The words rang in her head, knowing immediately who the sender of the email was. Soon after, the raids of the cells simultaneously began, and proved to be successful. SD-6 was gone. The thorn in her side was removed, and although she was fully aware that there would be scarring, just having the opportunity to heal could only mean good things. 

She felt exactly the same way two days later when Sloane's body was discovered in a remote location, just outside of Galway, Ireland. She didn't mourn his death one bit. The report concluded his death was from a heart attack, although it was noted that he had some sporadic bruising on his body. With him now out of the way, there were only a few other areas of concern in her life. 

There had been little word of Irina Derevko's whereabouts. The break that the CIA had received, the same day of the raids, was the best lead that they'd had in a while. In a separate email, locations were given of little known establishments where she was known to spend her time. But the results after searching those spots were nil, all of them wiped clean of anything with substance beforehand. 

Her mother was the only reason that Sydney decided to stay in the CIA. After the demise of SD-6 she could have just gone her own way, truly lived for once, but she felt somewhat responsible for Irina's escape, and wanted more than anything to see her brought to justice. 

Two weeks after her new life began, Sydney requested a week off. No one thought twice about agreeing to it. She didn't tell anyone of the pamphlet that she'd received of Galway, Ireland days before. The paper had a picture of a gorgeous sunset in mid summer, along with a few of the well know tourists spots, and a few words, an address to be exact. 

It was the first that she had heard of his whereabouts since their last night. He was wise though, of course, fleeing the States. He would be surely wanted for not only his past with Irina, but also his recent ties with SD-6 and Sloane. 

So after booking a flight under her alias, and having a brief and non-resolving conversation with her father, Sydney made her way overseas. Ignoring her father's concern, her mother's unknown status, and any protocol, she decided to live her life the way that she wanted to for once. 

The weather in Ireland was perfect for the time of year. A bit chilly, in the low sixties, but with absolutely clear and beautiful blue skies that grew darker by the minute. He didn't give her an exact date or time to come, leaving it open for her to decide. So she could only hope that he was there on that Friday evening. 

The address given was in the city. She drove her rented Audi slowly past the rows of similar homes; two story houses that sat, evenly spaced, next to each other. Having memorized the address, Sydney watched the numbers descend as she passed them one by one. It had only been a relatively short time since she'd seen him last, but she couldn't hide her excitement. Her life had changed because of him, and although she was sure that he didn't do it all for her, she couldn't help but be pleased with the option to lead a new life, as he put it so well. 

As she neared her destination, her excitement and the smile that had been plastered on her face all day faded. It was nearly dark, but still light enough for her to see three people standing out front of the house she was headed to, one surely familiar and the other two vaguely. She recognized the taupe wool sweater that Sark was wearing as one that she'd wore a few months back on one of Los Angeles' chillier nights. Pulling into the nearest spot, keeping herself unseen, Sydney stared for a moment then finally recognized the men Sark was talking to. 

Holsteinsborg, Greenland. The warehouse. 

It was such a short time ago, so Irina's men were fairly easy to remember. All three men moved into the shadows, likely giving their conversation the privacy it needed. Sydney grabbed the gun that was issued from the CIA, by her request, a necessary precautionary measure due to her mother, and stepped from her vehicle. 

Quietly, she approached the area she last saw them. She was glad that she wore a black sweater and jeans. The darkness of her clothing, and the dimness of near night helped her to hide. Her heart hammered her chest, thrumming in her ears. She readied herself for anything, knowing that these men meant business. 

Once she came within earshot, she stopped, hoping to get an understanding of what was happening. She could only make out a few sentences. 

"She wanted to give you one last warning before she took the necessary steps."

"Tell her to do what she wishes. I'm still going to continue to send them what I have." 

Slowly she peeked her head around the corner that they had walked behind, catching a quick visual. The man whose nose she broke in Greenland held his arms behind his back. She watched him discreetly cock his gun. 

"Are you sure that's the message that you would like me to relay to her?" He spoke once he finished readying his gun. 

"She won't be too surprised by it." Sark replied flatly, but his sentence trailed off as he caught a glimpse of her. He recovered quickly, hopefully fast enough. 

But the large nosed man noticed his falter, and spun to find Sydney. Without thinking twice she raised her arm to fire, but he beat her to it. She had heard the sound countless times, was desensitized to the loud pop, but what happened after the gunshot was most unfamiliar. 

She felt the small foreign object furiously rip through her. Tearing through skin, slicing through tissue and her insides, destroying what was in its path. Her chest. No, it was her stomach. Her gun fell from her grip, her hands dropping down to the area that was hit. She couldn't tell exactly where it had penetrated, but the entire area burned with an intense fire. 

His voice was distant, her ears clouded with the thumping of her heart, but the terrified look on his face and the shape of his mouth confirmed what was said.

"No!" 

She could only believe the sound that came from Sark's mouth to be a scream. It seemed to last for the duration of her standing, the single shot speeding through her, to when her body immediately weakened, crumpling to the ground. His face had countless emotions contorting it, and she barely noticed him pull out his Glock, emptying what was in his magazine into the two men. 

Everything grew blurry. She didn't realize the pools of water that had formed in her eyes caused her hazy vision, until she felt the liquid heat slowly dripping down her cheeks. With her best effort, she tried to catch her breath, but the pain was too much, to severe to do anything but breathe small and short. 

She felt someone place their arm under her neck, but when she turned her head slightly to face them, she found a stranger, just an onlooker that came to help. Seconds later, she saw Sark roughly push the stranger away from her, taking over their position. 

He was frantic, she could tell by his face, but his words were barely heard over her deafening heartbeat.

"Call somebody!" 

He forced softness to his face, but the furrow in his brow showed his concern. She watched as his eyes dropped down to the area of impact. The first sign of her condition was when his gaze fell to her stomach. His eyes closed for an extended period before re-opening to look at her. In the time they were closed, a mist was created, sadness surfaced. She could tell that he intentionally pushed it all back after she spoke. 

"It hurts." Her words were barely intelligible, stifled by the throbbing in her stomach. 

"I know. Just keep your eyes on me. You'll feel like closing them soon, but don't."

Her eyes fluttered as he curled her hair behind her ear with her free hand. _God he looks beautiful. _Sydney took one of her hands from her stomach, lifting the shaky limb to his cheek. The blood from her hands smeared on his cheek, leaving a crimson handprint. 

"I'm sorry." She whispered in between breaths. 

He placed his hand on hers, on his cheek, smiling softly. "It's only blood, Sydney."

"No, my mother… this. I'm sorry." 

A tear slowly escaped his eye, wiggling its way down to their intertwined hands. He shook his head no, telling her she shouldn't be concerned about that. 

"God, how I love you." Sark whispered through another tear, and as he kissed the back of her hand. "Do you know that? I love you, Sydney."

He said it. She couldn't help but feel some happiness in hearing those words from him, no matter how much pain she was in. She took a sharp breath in, as a huge gush of pain burst through her body. The piercing scream that flew from her shook him, his eyes widening with fear. Immediately after, her body felt lighter, calmer, like she wanted to rest. 

"Sydney, please. Eyes open."

"I love you too." 

Everything became blurry again, this time not from her tears. Her surroundings faded into what seemed like black, but an oddly peaceful darkness. The loud sirens that she heard around her moments before also washed out. The last thing she heard was the sound of his quiet voice. 

"Sydney…"


	12. Choose Your Illusion I

******A/N – Please read!! 

If anyone is very familiar with the movie 'Heathers', it's known that the ending that was filmed was not the original. JD wasn't the only one that was supposed to blow up, but that ending was scrapped for a lighter one. Sort of like 'Inebriety'. 

I have two endings that I'm going to publish with this story. Consider this one the 'JD gets blown up while Veronica's cigarette gets lit' version. 

Thanks to pie and Trix for the beta and help, and all those reviewers out there. Hope you like it. 

Chapter 12 – Ending 1

The two weeks that followed the demise of SD-6 were the most relieving and heartbreaking time that he had ever experienced. Looking back on it now still made him emotional, even though his current surroundings were quite tranquil. 

When he woke the morning after his admission to Sydney, he almost didn't want to leave her side. Never mind that it was just past three am. The way her nude body was curled up against him – leg casually draped over his, arm resting on his chest, her hand involuntarily stroking near his heart when he made any movement, made it difficult at best to leave. 

And she'd told him that she loved him. The morning after, his emotions were mixed over the endearing words that she barely let escape before they both fell asleep. As he looked over her peaceful form, her soft face barely lit by the artificial light from outside, he grew slightly weary. 

What he was about to do had been perfectly planned, down to the last detail, but if one thing went wrong this could be the last time that he would see her. He never had the chance to tell her that he felt the same. 

He contemplated waking her, but decided against it after he noticed the evenness of her breathing, indicating that she was sound asleep. Goodbyes were never easy, and it was probably better to keep things short. It was impersonal, but he hoped that the vague note that he'd left would be satisfactory. If all went well, they would be together again soon. After placing one last kiss on her temple, Sark carefully removed himself from her grip and began his eventful day. 

His favorite personal belongings packed and on their way overseas, Sark sat in his Mercedes, watching the old man's house_. 4:15am._ It was time. He'd set it up to where he would have fifteen minutes in order to complete the first part, and after taking one last deep breath, he quietly exited his car to enter Arvin Sloane's abode. 

His spacious home, to a normal person, would be difficult to access and navigate, but his research gave him entry and a straight path to his destination. When he entered the room, he saw the lump of his target, alone in the king sized bed. 

Gun already cocked, Sark slowly approached, prepared for anything. Luckily, Sloane was none the wiser. Sark slipped the ring that was especially made for Sloane on the old man's finger, its purpose to block the Alliance's track. With Sark's touch, Sloane stirred in the darkness. 

"Good morning, _sir_." Sark pressed his Glock into Sloane's temple, putting just a small amount of pressure on his head. "As much as I hate to wake you this early, we have a strict schedule to adhere to."

Sark would always remember the look of utter amazement and pure terror on Sloane's face during that interruption. If the old man could have turned any whiter, he would have glowed in the early morning. 

Many hours and even more miles away from Los Angeles, Sark sat in a folding chair in the corner of a dark deserted warehouse, watching the man that had killed his mother squirm in the chair that he was strapped to. Sloane chuckled slightly, as the irony caught up with him. 

"I don't suppose you'd appease an old man as he once did you by providing him something to drink."

Sark sat up from his casual lean in the corner, resting his elbows on his knees. "That was the plan." 

Sloane appeared confused, and Sark could only grin, his smile daunting. He'd had the upper hand over this man ever since their meeting in the back of the ambulance. One of Sark's last acts of revenge sat tightly bound in front of him, his time coming to an end. 

"I remember being in close to your same situation, just over a year ago. Something about me betraying you on our first venture together and the interrogation technique that was developed by the Khmer Rouge…well, in your case there is no glass ball."

"But you proved yourself worthy of my trust," Sloane stated, a slight crack in his voice from the leather strap that was tight around his Adam's apple. "You've helped us move forward in our cause."

Sark shook his head. "The cause of which you speak was never _ours_. Although noting the disbelief that you've displayed all day about your situation, I obviously portrayed my role extremely well. My agenda has been successfully executed." 

"I just can't fathom what you think you're achieving by doing this."

Sloane's voice had grown slightly weary over the many hours that he had been strapped to the chair. Sark could only smile, reveling in how well his plan is unfolding.

"You have never been one to see the bigger picture, even when it's laid out right in front of you."

Sloane didn't reply to Sark's cut and Sark could tell that the old man knew there was something larger in play. Knowing this had gone on long enough Sark decided to make his move. 

"My mother never told me one word about my father," Sark began as he stood, walking slowly over to Sloane. "I never really thought about him either… well, that was until I found out that he had killed her." 

Sloane's eyes followed Sark as he walked over the lone table in the room. After removing the cork to the bottle of Chateau Petreuse, he continued. "From that day, I vowed to make sure that bastard paid for what he did." Sark turned around, glass of wine in one hand, a vial of powder in the other. Sark held it up for Sloane to see. "Sodium Morphate. I'm sure you are more than aware of the effects it has on the body."

He could see a flash of recognition in Sloane's eyes. Sloane took his gaze from the vial up to Sark, looking him directly in the eyes. At first, Sark could tell he didn't believe him, didn't believe the son that he'd been looking for more than a year had been in front of him the entire time. 

After a hard swallow and a deep breath, Sloane let reality sink in. "I had no idea about you."

"From what I've come to know about you, it surely was better that way."

"You have to know that I loved her."

Sark laughed, scoffing at Sloane's efforts. "Hardly. You killed her to gain your seat in the Alliance."

Sark watched as Sloane shivered from the memory of what he did, a lonely tear escaping from his eye. He then looked at Sark with a slight smile, one that looked of pride and hinted of admiration. A look, that Sark assumed, a father would give his son for a job well done. Sark felt bile rising in his throat, burning as he held it down. 

"I can see her in you."

Sark felt the heat of fury whip through him. _Fucking bastard. _Instead of reacting to the distasteful comment, he calmly poured the powder into the wine, swirling the liquid to ensure the poison fully dissolved. He closed the gap between them and bent down to Sloane's eye level. 

"You won't for long." 

Within a short time after Sark forced the man to drink, Sloane stopped breathing. Unable to convulse due to his constraints, Sark watched his face twist into multiple positions, agony written all over each one. 

After the entire first phase of his plan was completed, Sloane dead and dropped off in a remote location near Galway and the demise of SD-6 confirmed, Sark moved on to his second phase, contacting the woman that he loved. 

Sark knew that Sydney was familiar with his background and that Marshall had studied his speech pattern, determining that Sark spent a good amount of time in Galway. Sending her a cryptic invitation would be the best route. 

He expected her to come at her earliest convenience, but figured with the intel that he'd sent about Irina's whereabouts that it wouldn't be for at least a few more weeks. So he decided that he would do what he would normally do on a Friday night that he was free. Hit his favorite local pub for a few drinks and then come home, checking in with his contacts. 

Just as he shut his front door, he came face to face with two familiar figures. 

"Mr. Sark," Irina's lackey from Greenland, the one that he remembered Sydney dealing with, spoke to him. "We've been sent here to request your cooperation."

The early evening ensured not many people were around, but Sark still wanted to play things completely safe. He walked down the few steps from his door and moved the conversation to the side of his house. 

"What does she hope to achieve by sending you two?"

"She wanted to give you one last warning before she took the necessary steps."

"Tell her to do what she wishes. I'm going to continue sending them what I have."

Sark saw a small twitch in the man's arm and knew that he had just cocked his gun. He wasn't worried though. He was ready, his gun easily accessible under his taupe wool sweater. 

"Are you sure that's the message that you would like me to relay to her?" 

"She won't be too surprised by it." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought that he saw some movement, the presence of another person standing in front of his house watching them. His curiosity got the best of him and he allowed his eyes to quickly dart in that direction. 

Fuck. Not now.

He would never be one hundred percent sure of what happened right after he returned his attention to Irina's men. The lackey had caught his eye movement and turned to find Sydney, armed and readying to shoot. Sark could only remember terror striking his body, hearing and watching that single shot that sparked from his gun, speeding right through her torso. 

"No!"

The scream that bellowed from his mouth, starting deep within his stomach, deep within his being haunted him to this day, as did what little he remembered happening after. 

Her blood loss was substantial, and her condition was dire upon arriving at the hospital. He didn't know what to do there. He wasn't used to losing this much control, having no way to immediately fix the problem. No detailed plan he could create would tell him if Sydney was going to be okay. So he waited for any news, after making an important, necessary phone call. 

"Mr. Bristow, Sydney's been shot."

Sark looked to the front of the sixty-four foot Sunseeker Manhattan that he was controlling, sighing at the scenery that lay before him. The crystal blue water that sparkled with a hint of white on each crest, matched the clear blue sky above. His sigh was not for the beauties of nature, but for another beauty, one that he thought he'd never have the opportunity to see again. He didn't like to think about that day much, but it still stayed with him.

After five hours of waiting, Sark was informed that the surgery was as much of a success as it could be. She was still in critical condition, but they had stopped the internal bleeding and repaired what damage they could. She still had a long road ahead of her. 

Sark stayed by her side, holding her hand for the first forty-eight hours after she was taken to her room. Even when Jack Bristow showed, distraught and surprisingly not looking for a fight, Sark wouldn't leave her side. At the end of the two days, it was Jack who had suggested Sark go home, get some rest also. 

He took the man's advice, leaving after she woke and he had a chance to tell her goodbye. When he arrived home, he was welcomed by an email from one of his sources. 

The Paris Club – Tuesday, 11:30pm. Making deal in private room. 

Sark closed the email, gently tugging on his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as he thought about what he had just read. The last time that he had given intel to the CIA, they botched it by sitting on what they'd had for too long. He made the decision that he needed to do this, needed to find some way to pay Irina back for what she inadvertently did to Sydney. 

So a day later he found himself in a darkened alley, hiding in the shadows, as he quietly waited for her to emerge. At first sight of Irina, accompanied by three armed men, Sark felt no nervousness. He was on autopilot with one goal, and there she was right in front of him. 

Sark aimed his Ruger, with added silencer, at one of the men, waiting until the door had closed. Once it was secure, the rest of the people inside oblivious to any outdoor noise, Sark pulled the trigger three times, perfectly hitting all three men. 

Irina was left, no guards and no visible weapon. Just her in all black, hair tightly pulled back into a neat wrap. Sark materialized from the shadows, gun now pointed directly at his target. He watched as her eyes narrowed in disgust, not surprised one bit that he was the attacker.

"You really ought to look into hiring competent help." Sark taunted. 

She was never one to look worried, but Sark saw a hint of concern flash through her eyes. "It certainly looks that way doesn't it?"

"She's going to live, no thanks to the two fucks you sent my way."

Sark watched a flush of relief run through her, Irina obviously wasn't aware of her daughter's well being. He stepped closer to her, keeping a steady aim on her. Once he reached her, he nudged her shoulder with the barrel of his gun, pushing her to walk forward. 

"Move." Sark ordered her to his waiting van, climbing in the back with her. 

He took her to the same abandoned warehouse that Sloane had died in, tying her in the same exact fashion, in the same exact chair. But unlike Sloane, there was no wine, no poison. Just the two of them, and a cell phone that he used to make one phone call. 

"You'll find Irina Derevko in the old McKinley warehouse on N84." 

And that was the end of Irina Derevko's freedom. She was sent back into CIA custody. 

A few days later, Sydney was transported back to the States to recuperate in familiar surroundings. Sark of course couldn't follow, but received small amounts of communication throughout the months from Jack Bristow. 

Nine months later, and she'd had a near full recovery. She was well enough to fly, so with the help of some old friends, Sark made contact with her again. When the two of them met at the airport, she showed him the letter. 

_Claudette – _

_It's been close to a few years I know, but somehow we had a miscommunication on your address. Julian was kind enough to send us the correct information and we hope that you both will be able to join us for our yearly Christmas gala. Enclosed are the dates of the party, but feel free to come as early as you like. _

_Looking forward to seeing you again._

_Consuela Espinoza  _

So much had changed in those few years in both of their lives, but the ocean, and Buenos Aires as a whole seemed to stay the same. The same hotel they stayed at before with the same restaurant where they had danced. The same sites that they visited in their "off" time. The same yacht that their pseudo friends had taken them on. Her sitting on the bow, soaking in some of the sun.

As Sark pulled back into the dock, Sydney made her way back to him. Her state didn't allow for a string bikini like last time, but the yellow spaghetti strap tank top with a lightly floral print skirt that lay just above her knees, still displayed every bit of beauty that she possessed. 

She slid her hands under his arms from behind, softly wrapping her lips around his ear lobe. "Thank you."

Her sultry voice sent vibrations down to his toes. He closed his eyes with the sensation of her nibbling wreaking havoc through his entire body. The past few days had been more than he could have ever asked for. Although most were under the impression that they were the Binoche's again, their feelings weren't created for some op or forced to satisfy the curiosity of onlookers. Their love for each other shone through, brightly, truly and deeply. 

"If you keep this up, these people are going to get more than their money's worth."

Sydney laughed throatily in his ear, lining the outer with her tongue. "Is that a promise?" 

Sark turned to face her, lovingly looking into her through her brown eyes. The softness in his face that used to surprise him, no longer did. He'd grown accustomed to showing it in her presence. And they would have many more days like this, that he was sure of now. 

His smile matched hers, devilishly suggestive, inviting the other to freely explore whatever they desired. He moved her hair behind her ears, giving his hands full access to her face. Sark took a small nibble on her lower lip, still drowning in her eyes and with his hands intertwined in her hair. Sydney wrapped her arms around his neck as he made a full connection with her, gently kissing her lips, then alternating the sweetness with a brief lining with his tongue. 

They had been through every obstacle imagined, and prevailed, their love for each other surviving even the rockiest of terrain. They stood by each other in times of doubt or sorrow, and now all that was left was pure passion and absolute devotion. He placed both of his hands on her face, taking his lips just less than an inch from hers. 

"Always is a promise."


End file.
